


A Long Way Home

by melmac



Category: Smallville
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1528511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melmac/pseuds/melmac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A twist on the evil scientist scenario. Clark is taken. After being found by Lex he has no desire to return home, and resents everyone from taking him away from the only person he trusts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I admit I'm putting this here so I'll finish it. There are 15 finished chapters I'll be posting over the next few days-- the rest of the story is planned, its more about finding the time to do it.

Dr. Carr stood on the edge of the field. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, and perspiration trickle down his neck. He waited patiently. The object of his anxiety stood just fifty yards from him, and judging by the young man's calculated progression, he'd soon be in range. He checked his tranquilizer gun again; making sure the dart was loaded properly. It'd taken weeks to perfect the right tranquilizer for him, knowing no ordinary drug would work on young Clark. He only prayed it worked. He and his team had been watching him for weeks, noting every extraordinary and ordinary thing he did.

Clark first came to his attention months ago while he was still working with Dr. Garner at Summerholt Institute. The incident in the memory well peaked his interest. He'd been monitoring his brain activity and had never seen anything like it. When the project was shut down and the entire staff had been let go, Dr. Carr and a few of his associates decided to start a research facility of their own. Knowing they'd need something truly astonishing to make their mark in the field; his thoughts immediately went to Clark. So the extensive research began, and the more he discovered, the more he realized he needed to have Clark in a controlled environment to make any progress.

The question of how he'd be able to contain someone with such physical power was answered one afternoon purely by chance. He'd been following Clark and his father while they ran a routine errand when their truck got a flat and veered off the road into a gully. Clark immediately got out to push the truck back on level land, when he fell suddenly, rolling on his bad, writhing in pain. Dr. Carr had passed them, parking his car at a bend in the road, and he stood amongst the trees watching with great interest as his father hurried to his aid, fishing around the dirt until he finally pulled out a large rock. If it hadn't glowed bright green, he'd have never known what caused Clark's fall. But the eerie green of the meteor rock made him immediately remember the odd reaction he'd had to the solution in the memory tank. He'd finally discovered his weakness.

Now he stood, with gun poised waiting for the opportunity to strike. Clark was raking hay and for some reason doing it at normal human speed, pausing occasionally to gaze out into the sky, seemingly lost in thought. Dr. Carr smiled at his luck, as Clark wandered near the trees close to where he stood. He waited for Clark to lift his neck towards the sky and then shot the gun. The dart landed squarely in Clark's jugular. His eyes went wide and he clutched at the dart in his neck as he sank to his knees. He yanked the needle out, panting, falling onto his back. Red and green mixed together as they ran down his neck. Dr. Carr watched, fascinated by his struggle, inching slowly forward when he was sure the drug was working. His eyes met Clark's for a brief second before he fell unconscious. He'd probably never forget the look of pure terror and anger in those eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

**6 months later**

Clark sat on his bed listening impassively to Dr. Williams drone on about not letting his recent illness worry him too much, that technically he was fine, better than most. He kept his head turned towards the window. The clouds were shifting outside, and the sky was growing darker. He inched closer to it, trying to soak in the last rays of the afternoon sunlight before the coming storm set in.

He'd heard it all before. Whenever he felt sick, they took great pains to remind him not to be worried. But he never worried anyway; all he ever wanted was the nausea and the weakness to stop. Clark mentioned on more than one occasion he thought the medicine they gave him caused the sickness, but his theory was immediately dismissed, saying not even the side effects could cause him such pain; that they'd keep working on discovering the problem. Clark wished they'd hurry, but right now he simply wanted Dr. Williams to go away and leave him in peace, so he could curl into a fetal position and will the nausea to stop.

"Clark are you listening?"

Clark looked up and nodded, but the bored expression on his face showed that clearly he was not listening. Dr. Williams looked a little exasperated, shaking his head slightly.

"Well, at any rate, Dr. Carr will be in to see you a bit later."

Clark's face brightened at the mention of Dr. Carr. "He's here today?"

"Well he's always here Clark, he lives here."

Clark rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean"

Dr. Williams smirked a little. "Yes, he's here. He was disappointed you couldn't finish your testing today, but he understands. His main concern is for you of course. He said to rest as long as you need to, and if you feel better later, you can visit him this evening."

A huge smile spread across Clark's face, making Dr. Williams chuckle softly.

"Well I'm glad at least one of us here can make you smile."

Clark shrugged, still smiling. "I like all of you."

Dr. Williams, just shook his head. "I'll leave you alone now. If you decide you want lunch after all just call the kitchen. Do you need anything else before I go?"

"I'm out of books to read."

Dr. Williams glanced at the tall bookcase in Clark's room, packed tightly with books. "Already?"

"I'm a fast reader."

Dr. Williams nodded, looking a little in awe. "That's an understatement. I'll have the library send up some more, or you can go down yourself when you're better. Well I'd better go. I'll see you at the end of the week."

Clark nodded and watched him leave. He glanced back at the window, cursing softly for missing the last bit of sun. It was raining now and a slight chill ran through him. He always felt uneasy watching things fall from the sky, though he had no idea why. The reason was probably housed in all the things he couldn't remember. As far as he knew, he'd only been in existence for six months, but his considerable size and command of the English language told him he'd been around much longer than that. The doctors told him his memory had been lost in the same accident that caused his odd mutation. They found him in alone the midst of a vast explosion, and as far as they could tell, there were no other survivors. He guessed it meant his parents were dead—if he had parents. He wanted to be sad about it, but he couldn't be sure they even existed, so feeling their loss was impossible.

They revealed very little to him about the cause of the mutation—more for his protection they claimed, so he could feel normal. For now he didn't press the issue; he wasn't sure he really wanted to know. He sunk into his pillows, massaging his stomach absently and turned on the television, flicking quickly through the ten channels he was allowed to watch. He sighed, settling finally on some home improvement show. The nausea was beginning to fade, and he could feel the strength returning to his limbs. But he had little desire to move now. He closed his eyes, thinking about later that evening, and hoping Dr. Carr had some new dvds for him to watch.


	2. Chapter 2

Blood curdling screams woke Dr. Carr from a deep sleep. He rushed out into his living room to see Clark, a twisted mass, entangled in his blankets, fighting some unseen demon. His unseeing eyes were wide with terror and his entire face was flushed bright red. Clark had fallen asleep on his couch, after a dinner of steak and fries, and a stack of DVDs he'd purchased for him recently. His screams became desperate, like they were being ripped out of him. Dr. Carr hurried to his cabinet to prepare a mild sedative and made his way to Clark's side. He very carefully touched Clark's face, talking to him calmly, trying to coax him out of his nightmare. Clark bolted upright, blinking hard, and his erratic breathing started to calm, as the room slowly came into focus.

The room seemed completely unfamiliar and for a second he started to panic, until it dawned on him that he hadn't fallen asleep in his room. He avoided Dr. Carr's eyes, feeling completely embarrassed. He could only imagine what the doctor thought of him now, thrashing around in his sleep screaming bloody murder. When he finally glanced at Dr. Carr, he was only smiling sympathetically at him. He sat up slowly, still looking embarrassed. Dr. Carr smoothed his hair back. Clark still stiffened a little at any comforting touch, but didn't pull away.

"I had another nightmare didn't I?"

Dr. Carr nodded, and placed the needle he was holding on the coffee table. Clark followed it with his eyes.

"If you think you're ok, we don't need it."

Clark nodded. "I'm fine..besides that stuff makes me sick."

Dr. Carr chuckled softly. "It does not make you sick Clark."

"Whatever you say….I was wondering if maybe my nightmares are memories trying to resurface? I mean..well they couldn't be I suppose...they're so violent, and its always someone torturing me, or holding me down…so it can't be real.."

Dr. Carr looked at him seriously, "I highly doubt they're real Clark."

"But they're just so..vivid.."

"Dreams are often as real as our waking lives Clark.. We're not supposed to take them literally. You're in a very tough position here. We try our best to make you comfortable, but the truth is, this is nothing like a real home, or a real family. Its only natural your anxiety that you suppress during the day in order to survive would be released in your dreams. It simply means you have a very active imagination." Dr. Carr smiled good naturedly and got up.

"Now..since you're up..how about a late night snack?"

Clark just shook his head numbly, his whole body still trembled from the force of his nightmare. His skin was slick with sweat. He pushed the damp curls off his forehead and sank back into the sofa cushions.

Dr Carr squeezed his harm affectionately. "Ok..well why don't you at least go stay in the guest room. If you can't sleep, come and get me."

Clark nodded, never taking his eyes away from the ceiling. The darkness of the room pressed down on him. He could hear every exhale of Dr. Carr's lung, and the methodic rhythm of his heart. The doctors had been trying to help him control his over sensitive hearing, and most of the time he was successful, but he felt too tired and rattled to do much about it now. He turned the television on to mask the noise. A warm comfortable bed beckoned in the next room, but he preferred to stay on the couch, with the whole of the apartment surrounding him.

He'd been having nightmares for weeks, and they were becoming more violent and more frequent lately. Snatches of the dream kept coming back to him in disconnected images, none of it making much sense. He never saw the faces of the people holding him, or cutting into his flesh, but the pain was real, and he felt it even now. He rubbed his stomach gently, a constant habit lately. He concentrated hard, trying to remember something of the nightmare. It was always like that. Once he awakened the dreams slipped away, leaving him with little else now except a glimpse of green fields and red hair glinting in the sun.

 

* * *

 

 

Martha Kent stared out over their expansive acres, watching the hired men work along side her husband. It still pained her to see anyone but her family working those fields, but it had been a necessary thing. Clark left them about five men short when he disappeared, and if nothing else, they had to give him a home to come back to. She relaxed in the small shade the deep red barn provided. It was her favorite spot on the farm now, just below Clark's sanctuary. If she closed her eyes she could feel his lumbering, heavy steps plodding down the stairs, or hear his clear voice, caught somewhere between adolescence and adulthood, calling her name.

She missed a new thing about him everyday—today it was his smile. Clark smiled with the greatest of ease as long as she could remember. She always marveled how this tiny toddler, after traveling through space for who knows how long, showed no fear towards them—his smile that day had been reassuring. He fit into their family like he'd simply been waiting all along for someone to take him home.

Martha blinked back tears and fingered a small piece of flannel she kept in her pocket. She'd cut a square of one of Clark's shirts that hadn't yet made it into the wash—but his scent faded a little more each day.

She shook her head, trying to force herself to stay present. She pushed her hair out of her face and prepared to join her husband in the fields, when she spotted a sleek, silver Porsche pulling into their driveway. Lex climbed out of the car in an unusual sense of urgency. Martha hurried her steps over to him, noticing a bright, but pained smile on his face.

"Lex…?"

"Get Mr. Kent….I found Clark."


	3. Chapter 3

Lex gripped the wheel tighter and accelerated on the gas. The smooth paved road stretched out for miles in front of him, without a single car in sight. He was taking the most remote route to the small town of Cadmus, Kansas, wanting nothing to impair his journey.

The Kents had been angered; especially Mr. Kent when Lex told them it would take almost forty-eight hours to retrieve Clark. He understood their excitement, and impatience, but he wanted to do this right. He told them if he involved the authorities there would be a much better chance Clark would be left alone in the future, since it was apparent he'd been abducted. Warrants take time, even when a Luthor was giving the orders. Aside from that, Lex wanted to talk to the men running the institute himself before his parents arrived; a fact he chose not to share with the Kents.

The information he'd been searching for was handed to him two days ago, without any coercion on his part. A young kid named Matt, claiming to be from Smallville called, saying he had information for him, and Lex agreed to meet with him in his office at Luthorcorp. The kid looked vaguely familiar and he remained guarded until the boy revealed he'd been under a Dr. Carr's care because of his unusual abilities derived from meteor rock exposure

He'd been lured by Dr. Carr in Metropolis. The doctor had a habit of trolling the streets for kids who'd been abandoned by their families who were either too freaked out or afraid of their abilities to care for them any longer. Most ended up on the streets in and around Smallville, and a few made it as far as Metropolis where they had more options to earn a living. That's where Dr. Carr found him living in a makeshift community of kids like him, offering a warm place to stay and money if he agreed to let him run a few tests. Lex imagined such an offer would be too compelling to pass up for anyone in such a desperate situation.

Matt explained that when all the testing was exhausted, many were then sent on to Belle Reve. The ones who were interesting enough to keep at the Institute were given large doses of amnesiac drugs and were put through more traumatic testing. He'd been there when Clark was brought in. He recognized him right away from Smallville High, and had always suspected he was different like him. Clark became the institute's pet of sorts, and he always felt sorry for him. When he was finally released, he managed to escape on-route to Belle Reve, and ended up back in Metropolis. He remembered Clark's friendship with Lex and when times became bleak again, he thought maybe he would pay for information on Clark.

He didn't have the good sense to ask for any more than a few hundred dollars, but once Lex saw the shabby state the kid was in, he handed him five thousand in cash, ordered a meal be sent up, and encouraged him to tell him everything he knew.

Glancing at his watch he expected to be arriving at the nameless Institute in just under an hour. He was meeting with Dr. Carr, the head of the Institute, and the man he'd been told had a personal interest in Clark. With any luck, Dr. Carr would see it was in his best interest to comply to the deal Lex had in mind without any further persuasion.

 

* * *

 

 

Clark watched the rain fall in heavy sheets outside his window, like it was being poured from a bucket in the sky. It was late afternoon and the rain storm from the night before still raged on. The erratic rhythm of the shower beating against the windowsill sent shivers through his body, making him want to turn away, but some morbid fixation on his own fear held him there. He focused his eyes on a particularly large drop falling steadily from the roof and watched it dissipate into tiny particles. He discovered some time ago that if he focused his eyes, solid shapes and living organisms alike were stripped down to their bare essence right before his eyes. This new development revealed itself by accident one day, and since there were no outside signs it existed, he kept it to himself.

The other ability his eyes possessed presented itself unexpectedly one evening in the middle of an especially steamy R-rated DVD. It resulted in a scorched and ruined flat screen television and a very embarrassed Clark. He still remembered the heat rising in a warm rush from his groin, culminating in a fiery blaze that burst from his eyes with incredible force. Controlling it had been a very long, humiliating journey.

He tore his eyes away from the rain and glanced down at his watch. He was due in the hospital gym in five minutes. He'd completely lost track of time. He rose from the window seat, dropping down on his knees to look under the bed for his sneakers.

He felt the small rush of air before he heard the door open. He knew  
Dr. Carr's familiar gait, and sat down where he crouched, looking up at him expectantly. It was unusual to see him just before weekly physical trials—he always immersed himself in mountains of data, preparing all day.

Clark smiled wryly. "Am I late or something?"

Dr. Carr didn't meet Clark's playful gaze and sat on the bed, placing a hand on his shoulder. Clark resisted the urge to shrug away, and looked up at him a little puzzled.

"Clark, your session today is canceled…in fact…Clark, we need to talk, come sit next to me."

Clark felt a sharp panic rise in his chest, but he moved off the floor and sat next to the Doctor.

"I need to you just listen to me. What I'm saying may sound bad, but its not..in fact its probably the best thing for you."

Clark's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"The institute is closing Clark. All of the patients here…even the doctors, we're all leaving."

Clark was on his feet in a blur. He often forgot his speed when he was agitated. He stopped just before the door, and turned back to the doctor, with alarm coloring his cheeks.

"I don't understand—why would the institute be closing? "

Clark took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He felt like the floor would give out from under him. The feeling was a familiar one, but he couldn't dwell on it, not until he made sense of what he was being told.

"It's a long story Clark, and one I don't have enough time to go into. But this is very real, and by tomorrow, all the occupants of this place are to be gone."

Clark paced around the room, making erratic patterns across the floor, fingers clutching at his abdomen.

"But…where am I supposed to go? Am I going with you?"

Dr. Carr shook his head slightly and a look of disdain flickered in his eyes, too quickly for Clark to really know if he saw it. He walked over to Clark, his face suddenly a mask of professionalism.

He gripped Clark's shoulders firmly. "I can't take you with me. I have a good idea where I'm going, and its definitely no place for you."

Clark had immediate thoughts of uncaring foster homes, like he'd seen on sappy television shows, and the panic started to rise. He had no idea what would become of someone like him—someone so different from everyone else. If his family was truly gone, he'd be forced to be on his own, and he wasn't entirely confident he was ready for that. He remained silent, completely at a loss, trying to comprehend what he was being told.

"Clark, I know this is a shock to say the least. And now I'm beginning to regret keeping you so sheltered here..but I thought we had more time, and we all planned to help you get the skills to be on your own eventually. I'm just sorry we're not going to have that opportunity."

Clark walked away from him and sat on his bed. He felt anger and frustration welling inside of him, and he feared he'd tear the room apart, and he didn't want to do that. He forced himself to face Dr. Carr.

"So what now...do I go live on the streets?"

"No Clark. You'll have a home."

"With who? I'm a freak..no one in their right mind will take me in."

"Clark, I don't like that term—and they know about your…they know you're special..and they're fine with it. They are claiming to be your parents."

Clark's eyes widened, and then narrowed in anger. "They're dead..you told me they were dead."

"There was no trace of them when we found you. No one came looking for you. As far as we knew, they were dead."

"So I've had parents all this time!"

"Clark, I don't know who these people are, and we're not being given any choice in the matter. We're to turn you over to them in the morning."

"What if I won't go?"

"You have no choice Clark, you're still a minor. Your only other option would indeed be the streets."

"I'm sure I can take care of myself." His voice faltered slightly and the doubt in his eyes was apparent.

"I'm sure you can too. But speed and strength won't give you a place to live or food to eat, unless you are going to turn to a life of crime. They seem like nice people. They have a farm in Smallville."

Clark looked at him incredulously. "A farm! I don't want to live on a farm! Listen, why can't I simply go with you? You must have a home somewhere. I won't be a burden…you can even continue studying me."

The earnestness on Clark's face almost made the doctor wish he could just take him with him—almost. He smiled sadly at Clark. Without the tools of the institute, Clark was of little use to him.

"I know there is so much more we could accomplish, but tomorrow morning you have to go with the Kent family. Its not what I want, believe me, but it's the best thing for you."

Clark's full lips caused him to resemble an insolent, pouting child with the slightest frown. It was very effective, though Dr. Carr doubted Clark did it on purpose. He remained silent for several minutes, and the doctor simply waited patiently, standing in front of the bed.

Each emotion Clark felt, played across his face, when Dr. Carr saw the look of resolve hardening his features, he moved closer.

There was a glint of unshed tears in his eyes, but Clark faced him bravely.

"Ok….I'll go with them."

"You never had any choice in the matter Clark, but I'm glad you're resigned to it at least."

Clark raked his hand through his dark waves and looked back at the rain, still coming down hard. He jumped suddenly from his bed and walked quickly to the door.

He stopped just short of the door handle.

"Can I leave? I mean can I go to the library?"

"You can go wherever you want, just don't leave the grounds."

Clark nodded but didn't turn around.

"Clark….please don't make this difficult. If you try to run away, we'll have to restrain you and I'd rather not have you spend your last night here like that. Just go to the library, calm down a little, and come up to my apartment. We can have your favorite dinner and we'll make pancakes in the morning…ok?"

Clark nodded again, glancing over his shoulder, and walked out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Dr. Carr stood in the doorway of the guest room. He watched silently as Clark slept, one arm hanging loosely off the side of the bed, dark curls hanging across his face. He tensed as Clark let out a deep sigh and turned over onto his back. He waited for a moment, but Clark didn't wake. His sleep was obviously a troubled one. His fist was wrapped tightly around the sheet, and a slight frown marred his otherwise tranquil face, but his full lips were slightly parted, looking almost child-like. Dr. Carr's eyes traveled down his exposed torso, noting any child-like similarities stopped there. He looked at the smooth, perfect skin, stretched over the taught muscles in his expansive chest. So human—too human. As he watched the faint scar, that was now nothing more than a small indentation down the middle of his chest and across his abdomen slowly disappearing, he felt immense regret that he'd never be able to continue his studies of the boy. He'd known from the beginning that Clark wasn't merely a meteor freak. His genetic make-up was far too sophisticated for that and he knew one small mutation couldn't alter a person so severely and so completely. He feared now he'd never have the answer to his most crucial question. He leaned a little against the door jam, finding a small comfort in the slow rising and falling of Clark's chest, wondering about the nature of the man he was now turning Clark over to.

 

* * *

 

 

The air was full of comforting smells-sweet warm syrup, sizzling bacon and only a faint whiff of burned toast. Clark wanted to enjoy his final breakfast with Dr. Carr, but the knot in his stomach only grew with each passing minute. He still felt a faint trace of nausea, but the doctor insisted it was simply nerves.

His emotions were running rampant, leaving him with a swirling confusion in his head. There was so much anger—anger at having his only sense of security ripped away from him suddenly, and leaving the only person in the world he could trust. He felt a great affection for Dr. Carr, and at the same time a little resentment for being kept so isolated, and so much his personal "pet".

He didn't understand any of what was happening and Dr. Carr was his usual secretive self. He sighed heavily as a million questions buzzed in his head.

In mere hours he'd be going off with people he didn't know to a farm he had no desire to live on. How could he be certain of what they really wanted from him? They claimed to be his parents and part of him desperately wanted to believe that. How often did he dream of having a real home? Even if they were his parents, how would they react to his mutation? Dr. Carr said they knew about his abilities and were fine with it, but what would they think once they saw fire shoot from his eyes?

Clark pushed his pancakes around his plate, twisting them in the syrup. He knew Dr. Carr watched him from across the table, but he kept his eyes lowered to his plate. His mind kept wandering to one thought— _maybe I should take my chances on the streets._

He was strong, virtually indestructible, except the times when he felt so weak and sick. It troubled him greatly that they never discovered the cause of these random bouts of illness. If he became ill living out there on his own, how would he survive then?

Clark banged his elbows on the table in frustration, upsetting his plate. He felt Dr. Carr get up, walk over to him, and remove his plate; but he sat there, with his hands racking through his hair in aggravation.

"Clark, maybe you should go to your room and finish packing." His voice was calm, but very measured, like he was afraid to say the wrong thing.

Clark got up, pushing his chair a little too hard and walked towards the door.

"Clark? You'll be fine with the Kents."

He turned around, leaning his back against the door.

"So you keep saying."

Dr. Carr sighed and walked towards him. "My hands are tied. Unfortunately our controversial work here has come to the attention of the authorities, and they felt the need to shut us down. There is nothing to do now but leave quietly and hope we can continue our research in the future."

Clark looked at him with very tired eyes. "And where does that leave me."

"With a normal life—isn't that what you want?"

Clark held his gaze and nodded slowly, then shook his head smiling at himself bitterly.

"I'm being terrible…"

"No, you're scared, as you should be. I'm just sorry we couldn't get back your memories in time. I hate to leave you so vulnerable."

"Are they really that important?"

The doctor nodded. "They shape who we are; without them we're lost. Which is how I imagine you're feeling right now?"

Clark swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

"Maybe I really should be on my own."

"That's entirely up to you Clark. But the Kents are offering you a real home. If you want any sort of future, you'll take them up on it."

Clark started to say something, but stopped himself. There was nothing more to say, about anything. Dr. Carr was right, the decision was his to make. He only hoped he didn't panic when the time came, and make the wrong one.

 

* * *

 

 

Jonathan Kent stopped when he saw the soaring walls of the institute rise before them. It was a long walk from the front gates, and the path curved down the hill, so the Institute appeared to grow ominously out of the earth as you approached it. There was nothing inviting about the place that housed his son for the last six months. It was hard to imagine someone as warm and vital as Clark surviving behind those steel gray walls. His wife pulled at his arm, imploring him to hurry. She was obviously extremely anxious to see Clark finally, and Jonathan shared her enthusiasm, but their meeting with Dr. Carr earlier in a small office near the Institute, left him feeling apprehensive, and he'd always been a cautious man. He still tried to grapple with everything the doctor had told them.

Dr. Carr insisted he wasn't aware of any abduction, and that he firmly believed his colleagues found Clark in a field of meteor rock, and brought him to the institute thinking he had been involved in an accident that may have caused a mutation. They were told Clark had no memory when he arrived, so they had no way of finding out where he came from. That made Jonathan suspicious, but firm pressure on his hand by his wife, made him keep silent and let the doctor continue.

He told them Clark was well taken care of and given all the comforts of a home. They even continued his schooling, unsure of his actual age. Clark's abilities were tested, but in a safe controlled environment. They'd never been able to penetrate his skin, so no blood samples were ever taken. The doctor went on to explain that all of Clark's records were destroyed at Lex's insistence. Jonathan wanted to feel relieved by all of the news, but there was something about the doctor he didn't completely trust, and he knew Martha shared his reservations, but she was more skilled in hiding it.

The one piece of information that formed a lump in Jonathan's throat that didn't seem to want to go away was Clark's apparent unhappiness about leaving the Institute—that he was sullen and angry about returning home.

Home was always the one place Clark felt safe, where no one judged him, where he didn't have to hide. Jonathan swallowed hard, not wanting to dwell on that. One step at a time. For now he put aside all his doubts, and quickened his steps beside his wife.

They were coming. Another wave of anxiety exploded in his chest, but Clark remained still, watching the progression of a mass of red hair and a tall golden haired man towards the doors of the Institute. Dr. Carr greeted them, and they had stopped to talk on the grounds below. Ironically it was the first day the sun saw fit to break through the clouds. The sky was clear and blue, with small voluminous clouds dancing in the horizon. A faint breeze rustled his hair through an opening in the window.

His room was stripped bare, only traces of exposed plaster remained where Clark had pulled a picture or two off the wall too hastily. His books were carefully packed into boxes, and lay waiting by the door along with a single suitcase full of his limited wardrobe. The halls beyond his door were quiet now. All the patients and doctors had gone early that morning—not a single one coming to his room to say goodbye. Only Dr. Carr and he were left now. He closed his eyes, loving the feel of the warm sun on his face.

The door clicked behind him, but Clark didn't move. He stayed rigid, facing the window. The only betrayal of his emotions was the wood splintering beneath his tight grip on the windowsill.

"Clark?"

He slowly let go of the windowsill and turned around. The woman with red hair and what he guessed was her husband stood in the doorway. Their eyes gleamed with tears, but they seemed hesitant. Clark stood there silently waiting, not giving them an inch. Finally Martha rushed forward, taking him in her arms. He remained stiff in her embrace and stepped aside, letting her arms fall away from him.

Martha's smile faltered a little, but she held it, remembering that it would take some time and incredible patience, and her son was worth all of it. She put a polite distance between herself and Clark, while Jonathan joined her. Dr. Carr waited by the door.

"Your Dad and I are…I can't even begin to tell you how happy we are to finally have you back…we had no idea what happened to you…or if you were Ok.." Her voice broke a little, but she struggled to stay composed.

Clark watched her. It was obvious they cared a great deal for him, that probably were truly his parents—he wanted to feel relieved, but he didn't. His emotions seemed to have shut down suddenly, and he wanted nothing more than to get far away from both of them. He wanted to tell them their son was gone, and he was sure they didn't want the person in his place.

But he only stood there watching, feeling fear and anger slowly overtake him.

His father took a step closer. "We have your room all ready for you…and I even tidied up the barn a bit…its where you spent most of your time…" He stopped, sighing heavily. "Look Clark…we know this has to be very strange for you, and its not going to be easy…but I just want you to know your mother and I love…"

Jonathan felt a strong breeze blow past him and the space where Clark stood was now empty.

Before anyone could react, they heard a loud strangled scream.

Jonathan was the first to reach to Clark's side—bolting ahead of the others the minute he heard the scream. No one noticed the fine green mist retreating from a small opening high above the doors. Clark was bent over, with his hand braced against the wall to keep from falling over—his face was contorted with pain. He stumbled backwards away from the door, cradling his hand as he attempted to stand upright.

Jonathan instinctively grabbed Clark's shoulders, pulling him towards him, away from the offending door.

"Clark..whats wrong with your hands..."

Clark immediately spun away from his father, staggering away.

"Get away from me!"

The cold anger in his voice startled Jonathan. .

"Clark, I just want to see if you're ok.." He reached to take hold of Clark's arm, but Clark shoved him away. Not as hard as he was capable of, but hard enough to send Jonathan crashing hard into the floor.

Dr. Carr, immediately went over to Clark, while Martha went to make sure her husband wasn't hurt. He grabbed Clark, pulling him away from them.

"What do you think you're doing!"

Clark looked with wide eyes at Jonathan getting up from the floor. "I'm..I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"And where exactly were you going? The security system is on, and it sends electric charges through the door if anyone breaches it, you know that."

Clark just shook his head. He was fighting hard to control himself, but his emotions were winning.

Jonathan blanched at what the doctor said. He didn't even want to think about the sort of place that electrocuted its patients if they attempted to leave. He moved to approach, but Martha held him back, she wanted Clark calm, and she wanted to get them all out of there.

Dr. Carr looked at Clark sternly.

"Clark, listen to me. I am deeply regretful that we made you so dependent on us. I realize now what a huge mistake that was. But these are your parents; they obviously love you and want to help you. There is nothing out there for you, but more pain. Go with them please, so I know you'll be safe."

Clark nodded, hot tears starting to fall down his cheeks. He hated falling apart like this, and wiped at them angrily.

Martha watched her son, her heart breaking. This wasn't what she envisioned when she dreamt of seeing Clark again. Her own eyes were brimmed with tears, and she swallowed hard, realizing that her son needed them now more than ever.

She tentatively approached Clark, gently pulling him away from Dr. Carr. She pulled him into a hug, not caring if he returned it. He stayed limp in her arms, but he didn't pull away. She stepped back and Jonathan placed an arm around his shoulder, leading him away from the doctor.

"Come on son, we need to get you home now."

Clark watched the Institute slowly disappearing behind the hills as the truck drove away towards the front gates. Clark slumped against the back seat as he prepared to leave the hospital grounds for the first time in his life.

 

* * *

 

 

Dr. Carr watched the Kents drive off from the window of his empty residence; still marveling over the emotion Clark was capable of displaying. He'd done as Lex asked and tried to make the transition smooth for the Kents, and like he promised he had no intention of ever contacting Clark again. He supposed it was cruel to make someone so dependent on you and then abandon them, but dependency was necessary to exert control over him. He smiled a little thinking back on the trouble they'd had with Clark when he first arrived.

He walked over to a bookcase, pushing it aside to reveal a panel in the wall. He unlocked it and carefully removed the digital tapes inside. These were the only things Lex's men managed not to take when they swept his residence and office, looking for all documentation on Clark. He instructed his assistance to remove any notation of the experiments performed on Clark, making sure the tapes were the only record that remained. Dr. Carr carefully slipped them inside a black duffle bag, shutting the panel and replacing the bookcase. He took one last look around the apartment and headed down to a waiting car below.


	5. Chapter 5

Martha Kent felt seriously at a loss. She pulled the third cake she'd made today out of the oven, hoping this one wasn't burned. She yanked one of the small kitchen windows open, letting the faint smell of burnt sugar that still lingered, drift outside. The cool air against her face was a small relief against the tightness of the kitchen—of the whole house that been stretched with tension for the past four days. No one wanted to admit anything was wrong, and they walked around the house with excruciating politeness and smiles they didn't feel planted on their faces like masks.

She lived with a gaping hole, surrounded by immeasurable pain for months, knowing the only thing that could fill it would be seeing her son's beaming smile again. But he didn't smile much anymore, and the boy upstairs, right now at least, wasn't her son.

Those annoying tears sprang to her eyes again, she admonished herself for indulging in self pity, when Clark sat upstairs, alive and well—that's all that should matter, he'd come back to them eventually. She sighed, wiping her face and moved to the stove to stir the chocolate, clinging to the hope that it was still his favorite.

 

* * *

 

Clark gasped, catching himself before he collided with the floor. His heart pounded against his ribs and sweat trickled down his forehead. He wiped at it angrily, pushing himself up to a sitting position and slowly climbed out of bed.

He'd fallen asleep again, something he struggled not to do all afternoon. Judging by the mundane sounds of clanging in the kitchen and the hum of distant machinery, he hadn't screamed this time. Again the dream slipped away before he could grasp it and all that remained was an acute feeling of panic.

He moved to the windowsill, resting his head against his knees. He saw his father a short distance from the house, repairing a tractor. Jonathan waved when he saw him and Clark waved back, not bothering to return the smile. He should be down there helping him, or so he heard it being declared in raised voices that morning. Jonathan's frustration was tangible and Clark avoided him, not entirely sure what he wanted from him. He knew nothing about tractors or the workings of a farm, and what little he'd seen so far held no interest to him. He stayed in his room mostly, and hadn't ventured beyond the front porch.

He rubbed his cheek against the rough denim of the jeans he wore. He seemed to be obsessed with absorbing every new sensation lately. He loved how the material was soft and faded in some areas and dark and stiff in others. He'd never been allowed jeans at the Institute, though he saw a few of the other patients wearing them. Dr. Carr provided all of his clothing, and told them they destroyed the outfit he wore when they found him. His mind now drifted to another sore subject—Dr. Carr. The Kents told him during his first night on the farm that any contact with Dr. Carr should be put on indefinite hold, until he found his place with them again. He'd only mildly protested, not wanting to upset them, but inside he fumed. How dare they rip the only person he knew or cared about from him? Hadn't there been enough upheaval for one day? But he knew this request was born out of fear and he had no intention of honoring it anyway.

He reached down to retrieve the book he'd discarded earlier, but stopped with his arm suspended in mid-air when his bedroom door opened.

Martha Kent stood in his doorway with the same expression he'd seen come and go over the last few days—like she was apologizing for her existence. He knew instinctively that she was a strong woman, but the sight of him always seemed to fluster her.

He put on his best smile for her and gave her his full attention.

"I'm sorry Clark, I really should have knocked.."

He just looked at her warmly."Its ok, come in."

She looked around his room appreciatively. "Wow, I don't know if your room has ever been this clean."

"Oh..was I messy?"

"A little..but not too bad, you always cleaned it when I asked you to."

He smirked. "This Clark Kent seems like a saint."

Martha smiled, relaxing, caught in a memory of her own. "No..you were definitely not a saint."

She watched his smile falter when she said that, and she knew immediately what he was thinking.

He looked at her with an expression mixed with sadness and anger. "I'm not him."

She walked closer to him, looking directly in his eyes. "You are him, you are my son. Even if you don't remember everything now, you're still the same boy I raised..and I think its time we all remember that."

He looked at her with skepticism but remained silent.

"Anyway, your father wants you outside. He needs to show you how to work the tractor."

"But I don't.."

"I know, you don't want to work on the farm, but this is a family farm Clark, and you're part of this family, so you're just going to have to get used to it. Your work boots are in your closet."

She brushed his hair back, ignoring his flinch and walked out of the room.

Clark, groaned and tossed the book he planned to read against the wall, leaving a small dent in the plaster. He went to his closet and pulled out the ugliest pair of shoes he thought he'd ever seen, pulled them on and trudged downstairs.

 

* * *

 

Jonathan smiled when he saw Clark walking slowly across the field, with disgruntled frown firmly in place. He had a fleeting image of a very young Clark wearing that same expression whenever he tore him away from playing with Pete to do his chores.

"There you are..why don't you come over here and give me a hand."

Clark looked at him like he'd lost his mind, but silently continued his trek over to him.

"I don't know a thing about tractors.."

Jonathan put a hand on his shoulder, removing it when Clark tensed. "I..well, I know son, but we can't wait around for you to regain your memories of how to work a farm, so I figured the best thing to do is to teach you all over again."

Clark continued to look unconvinced.

"Come on Clark, you might actually enjoy it."

Jonathan looked him with such pained earnestness that Clark finally nodded with a small smile, allowing himself to be guided over to the old tractor.

He spent the next hour along side his father, observing him work. He marveled over how good-natured and fair he seemed when talking to the hired men in the fields. He could tell they liked and respected him very much, which made Clark feel a little more at ease. He absorbed a lot—he guessed it was merely the nature of his brain, but still found it all very dull, and soon wandered off when he spotted a small grove of trees.

A few minutes passed before Jonathan realized the ever silent Clark was no longer at his side. He barely survived his heart plummeting into his abdomen when he thought for a fraction of a second that Clark had seen enough of farm life and taken off. His nerves were immediately quelled when he spotted the tall dark-haired figure walking amongst the trees lining the property.

Jonathan stopped a few feet from Clark, not quite sure how to take in the sight of his son running his hand gently along the trunk of a tree. Clark seemed completely unaware of his presence, completely transfixed, breaking of bits of bark, letting it crumble in his hands.

"Clark, what are you..?"

"What kind of tree is this?" Clark continued to look up towards the expanse of branches overhead.

"Um..Cottonwood I think." Jonathan approached cautiously. "What exactly are you doing?"

Clark shook his head, chuckling at himself. "Sorry..I just wanted to feel the bark..its not like I thought..it looks so tough, and feels really rough, but it if you touch it, its really very delicate….I thought it'd be thicker too."

The realization that in his mind, Clark had never touched a tree before slowly dawned on him, leaving a hollowness in the pit of his stomach.

He swallowed hard, keeping his emotions in check. "Well, they must have had trees at the Institute."

Clark turned to look at him; feeling embarrassed suddenly when he saw the pained expression on his father's face that he failed miserably to hide.

"Oh..no, I mean trees surrounded the grounds, but they were all beyond the gates, so I never got to actually touch them. I'm sorry, I know I look weird..but I've been reading Thoreau lately—Walden, and he talked a lot about how nature was the only thing that invited such close inspection."

Jonathan smiled. "Thoreau huh? I think I remember you reading that for school, but mostly you liked to read about distant planets and stars."

He nodded, remembering his one venture out to the barn. "I noticed a lot of astronomy books."

They had walked a few feet into the clearing. "I remember one time you got lost out here..you ran so fast….Clark?"

Clark suddenly dropped to the ground, writhing around, clutching his neck, screaming in pain.

"Clark!"

Jonathan ran to his side, trying to pry his fingers away, that were now digging into his own flesh, causing blood to seep down his neck, but he may as well have been trying to move a three-hundred pound boulder—Clark's fingers wouldn't budge.

He grabbed Clark by the shoulders, trying to shake him, to get him to come back from whatever nightmare he was trapped in. As far he could tell, Clark wasn't hurt, the only pain was the pain he inflicted on himself.

His eyes were wide and streaming—looking right through Jonathan—the screaming stopped, then miraculously, he seemed to go weak, and his fingers fell away from his neck, leaving a bloody gash in its wake that immediately began to close—healing in the way that never ceased to amaze Jonathan.

The once screaming boy lay in his arms, sleeping, face still flushed red, and wound now closed. He smoothed his hair back, trying to make some sense of what just happened. Two of his workers came rushing through the trees, obviously alarmed by Clark's screams.

Jonathan told them to go back, that Clark was ok..that he just…he couldn't even think of a sufficient lie to tell..and was grateful when they slipped back into the grove without any further prompting.

Clark slowly opened his eyes. He felt completely ill and his head swam. Strong arms were wrapped around him, and he pulled away like they burned. It took him a moment to realize it was only Jonathan. He looked around him, confused.

"How did I…I mean I couldn't have fallen asleep.."

Jonathan wanted his heart to stop pounding in his chest desperately. "You weren't sleeping Clark…we were talking and then…and then you started screaming, like something was attacking you."

Clark sat there, looking more lost than ever. "But how..?"

"Clark…what did they do to you at that place?"

The second he saw the anger flash across his face, he regretted saying it, but they've been tip-toeing around the subject for days.

"Nothing…they didn't do anything to me..I'm just sick that's all..sometimes."  
He stood up abruptly.

"I'm going back to the house now."

"Clark, son..I just need to understand whats going on."

But Clark didn't answer him—didn't even look at him. He only felt the soft whoosh of air that told him this battle was lost, for now. Jonathan looked up at the clear blue Kansas sky, listening to the soft roar of cars passing along the nearby road, and wondered, how when everything was so still, so peaceful he could feel so enraged and murderous.

He glanced in the direction Clark had run, and slowly took off towards the house.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark meets his best friend for the first time.

Martha Kent glanced out the kitchen window, casting her gaze towards the silent barn for the tenth time in the last two hours. Earlier Jonathan told her about the incident in the fields, and she had been relieved when they'd seen Clark pass the window in the barn's loft in the distance. After debating some twenty minutes about whether to go up there and talk to him, they'd both decided to just leave him alone, and agreed that it was a good sign he'd retreated there instead of running off completely.

But what he'd described chilled them both to the bone. Clark had been in the throes of some waking nightmare, reliving whatever happened to him the day he'd disappeared six months ago. With shaky voice, Jonathan described Clark ripping his own flesh, trying to fight off some unseen force.

His eyes had glistened when he'd told her what had happened.

" _He doesn't remember what happened to him, but his mind does, it's trapped somewhere deep, trying to claw its way out. God Martha_ … _what do you think they did to him there? And still he defends them! Actually defends that damn doctor, and I don't care what he says, there's no way that man is innocent!"_

It had ended with Jonathan slamming out of the house, needing to work out his frustrations in the field.

Martha leaned against the counter. She could feel the seams their family had spent so many years weaving, starting to unravel.

She let the truth of everything settle somewhere around her chest, making it tighten, causing her eyes to grow moist. They had no idea how to really help Clark, and if they went to professionals, they were frightened of what memories Clark would reveal to them. There was no way to win—everything leading to more hiding and lies, everything leading to their son being left terrifyingly alone.

* * *

 

Clark watched his mother from the loft. He focused his eyes, making the walls peel away, and he watched as she walked busily around the kitchen, pausing at intervals, seemingly lost in thought. He could tell by her movements she felt distressed. They were always distressed over him. He constantly heard anxious conversations, whispered late at night when they thought he was asleep. To him it was just a matter of time before they tired of all the stress and asked him to leave. The thought sent a cold shiver down his spine. Even if he didn't really love the farm, he had no desire to leave it. The unknown, waiting for him out, there only scared him.

He cradled a small cell phone in his hand, a flip model like he'd seen in so many ads in magazines and on television. It was laying on the desk in the loft, so he supposed it had once belonged to him. He found the power button after a few attempts, thinking it was a very stupid place to put it, and smiled to himself when it sprang to life, glowing blue and red in his palm.

The Kents told him it was best not to call Dr. Carr. But Clark was certain the Kents didn't have a clue what was best for him. He quickly dialed the number Dr. Carr had given him just before he'd left the Institute. But it went straight to an anonymous voicemail, a mechanical voice disguised to sound like a very pleasant woman telling him the person he was trying to reach was unavailable.

Clark squeezed the phone shut with too much pressure and it crumbled in his hand. Frustrated, he threw the pieces at a far corner in the room, flinching at the sound the plastic made when it fractured into even smaller pieces. He slumped against the window sill, feeling like a giant oaf-a feeling he often had whenever he wasn't careful with his enormous strength. Except there was no one there to tell him he wasn't a monster—just extraordinary, soothing his growing anxiety over what he was.

Clark bit his lip, trying to quell its trembling, but he stopped himself from letting the emotion overtake him. The time when he could behave like a child was over. For all intents and purposes he was a man now, and he had to take care of himself. The Kents were too confused and hurt to do it, so it was up to him. He fell back against the ratty old sofa, staring blankly ahead of him-willing himself not to give in to the encroaching misery.

 

* * *

 

"… _Patient C seems to have no limits in terms of stamina. Greater distances were set today to attempt again to clock speed accurately. At points set 100 meters apart, he appeared on the opposite side in .078 seconds or as we can best surmise. The speedometer clocked him at about 17,000 mph, though Dr. Cheever suggested using a phototachometer, but I don't feel he's reached the speed of light yet…."_

Lex leaned back in his chair, staring at the words in front of him. He'd been poring over documents obtained from Dr. Carr all afternoon, with strict instructions to his staff that he not be disturbed. He'd read the passage four times in quick succession, trying to let his brain absorb everything. He'd always suspected Clark was extraordinary, but this-speed so fast he couldn't be seen….incalculable strength…shooting heat from his eyes.

Lex had been particularly perplexed by the last one. Having lived in Smallville the past couple of years, he'd definitely seen some strange things and met people with bizarre abilities, but to discover his friend was some sort of human dragon sent his mind reeling. None of the reports concluded the actual temperature of the heat blasts, but stated that Clark could control the intensity of the heat, and even, if he wished, warm a cup of coffee without incinerating the paper cup holding it.

His frame of mind was stationed somewhere between awe and anger, the awe overtaking his anger as he tried to imagine himself possessed with such extraordinary gifts. Clark never wanted power or prestige, shied away from it, and now Lex knew why—if you could crush steel with your bare hands, what more power did you need? Ordinary men had to grab their greatness in much more inventive ways.

Lex thumbed through the remainder of the documents again. There was mention of a drug, normally used as part of anesthesia to induce amnesia in patients, called Midazolam. The documents went on at length about various trials combining the drug with Ketamine-a drug Lex knew better as "Special K" from the drug-crazed frenzy of his Metropolis clubbing days and small doses of liquid meteor rock;  _"not enough to kill"_  they added. That's how they managed to erase his memories. Lex read the section over again, intrigued by the need for the use of meteor rock, and wondered why they thought it posed some danger to Clark. Of course, he reasoned, someone with such remarkable abilities would certainly have a much more complex genetic makeup and he knew from his own experiments that meteor rock enhanced whatever substance it was paired with, but as far as he knew exposure never killed anyone, only altered them.

He made a mental note to discuss this with Dr. Carr during their meeting the next day. They both agreed to meet weekly, or whenever Lex deemed it necessary to discuss the doctor's findings. Whatever they had been doing at the Institute, Lex felt their studies were sloppy at best, that they needed to define what their ultimate goals were and proceed accordingly. But first, Lex needed to gain the trust of their subject, and that could only be obtained by renewing his friendship with Clark.

Lex slipped the papers into a small compartment under his desk, grabbed the keys to the Porsche, and a small box that sat on his desk, and headed for the Kent Farm.

 

* * *

 

It had been a couple of weeks since the wheels of his Porsche churned the dusty road leading to the Kent farm. He saw Martha Kent walk out onto the porch to greet him, obviously hearing him screech around the bend; he never would learn not to take those turns so sharply.

He never tired of watching her shockingly red hair flounce against the backdrop of the overly cheerful yellow farmhouse. He outstretched his arms as she approached and pulled her into a quick hug. The months of working closely together, trying to bring her son home had brought a new closeness between himself and the Kents, and he had to admit he enjoyed it. But he saw the stress still lining her eyes, and wondered if the family reunion hadn't gone well.

She smiled at him as brightly as she could manage. "How are you, Lex?"

"I'm well, Mrs. Kent." He glanced around looking for any sign of Clark. "How are things here?"

She faltered slightly, but kept her smile in place. "Good, as good as we can hope for, Clark still has some adjusting to do of course. I mean we certainly didn't think it would be easy…" She stopped and shook her head. "I think we were naïve, Lex. I think we honestly thought once Clark came home everything would be fine, and we'd be a family like before, but…Clark is still finding his way back to us, and it's hard, and we're being patient."

Lex gently took her shoulders. "Clark is extremely lucky to have this family, and in time I'm sure, whether he remembers everything or not, he'll come to appreciate that."

She nodded and smiled; a little unnerved by everything she'd obviously been holding inside. She saw Jonathan coming in from the fields and waved him over.

"Well come inside, Lex, I'll get some coffee. Oh and I made a cake for Clark, though he hasn't seen it yet."

"That sounds perfect. Where is Clark by the way? I was hoping to at least introduce myself."

Her smile finally fell. "He's in the barn, hiding."

Lex looked at the concern in her face. "Hiding?"

She nodded. "He got upset earlier, and he's been there ever since."

"Oh, well maybe this isn't a good time…"

"A good time for what?" Jonathan Kent smiled and shook Lex's hand firmly "Hello Lex, I'd been wondering when you'd venture out here."

Lex returned the smile. "Just wanted to give you and your family time to be alone and adjust. Mrs. Kent was just telling me Clark is hiding up in the barn. I thought I might go up there and say hello, if it's okay."

"Lex, I don't think…" Martha placed her hand on his arm, her gentle way of telling him she had a better answer.

"I think it might be good for Clark, even if he doesn't remember Lex, it's time he has someone he can talk to if he can't talk to us."

Jonathan looked hesitant, but acquiesced.

Lex headed for the barn, but Jonathan stopped him. "Lex, I know you've told us this before, but are you absolutely sure everything Dr. Carr had on Clark was destroyed? I'd hate for anything else to damage him, when he has such a hard road ahead of him as it is."

Lex looked at the pillar of strength standing before him, asking to be reassured about his own son's safety. He felt something warm twist inside of him, and kept the smile he felt in check.

"I assure you Mr. Kent, my people swept that entire place, and gathered everything there, and I personally saw to the destruction myself. I have no idea what was in those documents and records, but none of it can hurt Clark now."

Tension eased a little from Jonathan's face and he let his mouth relax into a small smile.

"Thanks, Lex, I just wanted to be sure."

"Of course, and I'll be in for that cake Mrs. Kent, and hopefully I'll bring Clark with me."

 

* * *

 

Clark watched with curiosity as a strange bald man in a very expensive car stood talking to his parents in front of the house. He didn't know what to make of this person's presence; he couldn't imagine what someone like that would want with his parents, but the conversation seemed friendly, and the man had hugged his mother and shook hands with his father. And now he was coming this way.

Part of him wanted to speed away unseen, but the conviction he'd made earlier held him there waiting as Lex's approaching footsteps grew louder. When Lex reached the landing, Clark instinctively stepped back, but caught himself and stepped forward instead to greet him.

"Well, everything looks the same."

Clark just stared at Lex unsure of what to say. "Um…yes, I mean, I don't know."

Lex laughed a little. "I'm sorry, that was probably a ridiculous thing to say. It's just hard to know where to begin when you have to introduce yourself to your best friend of three years." He held out his hand to Clark. "Lex Luthor."

Clark took it, not bothering to hide the surprise on his face. "We're best friends?"

Lex nodded, stepping closer. "Yes, in fact you're one of the only people I trust in this world, Clark."

Lex saw a slight flicker of the old Clark in his face when he furrowed his brow with concern. "I'm really sorry I don't remember you then, and I don't know if my parents told you…"

"I know all about it. I was the one who found you." He watched Clark's face go blank, but continued. "You have to understand, we had no idea where you were. You just disappeared one day and I promised your parents I'd do everything in my power to find you. We thought you were hurt, or worse. To us you belonged here, and anyplace else meant you were in danger."

Clark sighed and looked towards the window, turning away from Lex.

"Its ok. I understand, but it doesn't make this easier. I just wish they understood how much I need to talk to Dr. Carr."

Lex came and stood beside him. The sun was just slipping beneath the horizon, bathing them in a warm orange and red glow.

"They're just scared Clark. They love you and want you back."

Clark looked at him and said quietly, "What if I can't come back?"

Lex sighed and placed a hand on Clark's shoulder, but withdrew it quickly when Clark flinched. He mumbled "sorry" and sat heavily on the window sill.

Lex looked puzzled but sat next to him. "Then they'll love you as you are now."

"I wish I believed that."

"Look Clark, I didn't come here to upset you. I'm sorry."

Clark looked up, trying his best to smile, and failing. "No…it's okay, it's just been…it's been a rough day."

"Well, maybe this will help cheer you up." He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and produced a small box.

Clark looked at the box as Lex handed it to him. "What's this?"

Lex smiled. "Open it, just something I thought you'd enjoy."

Clark carefully opened the box, which contained a small hardbound book with an ornate cover, prominently spelling out "Walden" by Henry David Thoreau in Rococo script. Clark's eyes went wide, and he quickly went to the title page and saw the date: "1854, First edition" along with the etching of a small house he'd only seen bad reproductions of.

His face beamed. "Wow, Mr. Luthor.."

Lex gave a slight chuckle hearing Clark be so formal with him. "Please, it's Lex."

His smile was wide now. "Sorry, Lex. This is a real first edition—it had to have cost a fortune."

"Not to me, believe me Clark, I can afford it, and I thought it would help you reconnect with nature, with life on a farm. I know it helped me when I first moved to Smallville from Metropolis. Please I want you to have it."

Clark turned the book carefully over in his hand, loving the feel of the old binding. "If you're sure, it's really too extravagant.."

Lex laughed again. "I see some things never change. I was kind of hoping you didn't remember the Kent aversion to gifts."

Clark laughed too. "Yeah, they seem to shun material things around here. No, this is really thoughtful, I'm happy to accept it. And one day you'll have to tell me how you ended up in Smallville."

Lex clapped him affectionately on the back and stood up. "Another time, after all, we have all the time in the world. Now, I believe your mother mentioned chocolate cake. Please tell me it's still your favorite."

Clark cast a worried look towards the house and nodded.

"Come on. The worst than can happen is you'll overindulge in cake."

He reluctantly stood up and moved to follow him. "Hey, Lex. What kind of car is that?"

"Oh, that's a Porsche Carerra GT, one of only fifty in this country. I'll give you a ride later."

Clark smiled broadly. "Amazing…and I'd love that."

"Good, now let's get going. I'm starving."

They both descended the stairs, and walked quickly in unison towards the house.


	7. Chapter 7

Lex slammed the phone down hard. That was the fifth time in as many days he tried unsuccessfully to reach Dr. Carr. For some reason the doctor was now avoiding him, and even skipped their weekly meeting yesterday. Lex had his people canvassing the area, searching out any sign of him. So far, everything led to a dead end, but he knew Dr. Carr didn't have the means to disappear completely. He'd find him eventually.

He grabbed a folder roughly in his hands, peering closer at the note he'd found scribbled hastily on the back, as if the ink itself could reveal its mysteries. All the note said was.  _"organ tissue regeneration—12hrs"._  He'd come across it after spending another long evening going through Dr. Carr's notes with excruciating detail, making notes of his own, that would be passed on to the group of scientists he assembled to start setting up a lab in one of Luthorcorps abandoned buildings. This work was far too delicate to be housed at the plant in Smallville.

He now regretted the urgent phone call he placed to Dr. Carr immediately after his discovery. Something he said must have scared off Dr. Carr, though he didn't go into specifics. Still, it wasn't like Lex to play his hand so carelessly. But he knew the note could mean only one thing— that they somehow managed to extract tissue samples from Clark.

Dr. Carr told him emphatically many times they never performed any invasive procedures; that they never so much as took a blood sample, and all drugs were administered orally. Because of Clark's invulnerability he claimed they could never find a way to penetrate his skin, but that one comment alone proves they had found a way—they'd found Clark's weakness.

Lex picked up the phone again, and called one of the men he hired to keep an eye on Dr. Carr. So far they'd confined their searching to Metropolis, since Lex was convinced the doctor wouldn't go too far away from his favorite subject, he was simply stalling and Lex thought he knew why.

The man reluctantly reported there had been no change on the Dr. Carr front.

"In 48hrs I want to hear a different answer from you. Understood?"

The reply was a brisk. "Understood.", before he abruptly hung up.

Lex ran a hand across his scalp in frustration, and whirled around at the sound of his office door opening. His guard stood in the doorway looking very apologetic.

"Mr. Luthor.."

He cut him off. "I thought I told you I wasn't to be disturbed."

"Yes sir, but.." Then a nervous voice behind him said "That's ok, I can come back.."

Lex recognized the voice and immediately changed his tone. "Clark?"

Clark stepped from around the door jam, and stood awkwardly next to his guard.

"I'm really sorry, I know I should have called first, you just said whenever I wanted…"

Lex put on his best warm smile. "No, I'm sorry, of course you can come in Clark, and I meant that; come by anytime."

Clark stepped cautiously in front of the guard. "Are you sure? Because I can just come back later."

"Honestly Clark, I could use the break."

He watched Clark's features relax into a smile, as he ushered him into the room.

Clark glanced around Lex's office as he always did, taking in everything in the room in one sweep, but his gaze always went towards the door at the far end of the room, that always sat ajar, revealing just a hint of the tiers of polished mahogany shelves housing the largest collection of books Clark had ever seen in his short existence. Lex laughed softly as he followed Clark's line of vision.

"Why don't we go into the library?"

Clark laughed a faint blush darkening his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I know you have about 5,000 rooms, but I can't seem to get past that one."

"Its ok, it is an impressive collection. So, which volume are you going to start on today?"

Clark studied the shelves thoughtfully. "Can you believe I've never read 'War and Peace'?"

"Actually I'm sure a great many people your age haven't read it, especially around here."

He saw Clark roll his eyes slightly and had to laugh. In some ways he was enjoying this version of Clark more than the previous one. He was still guarded but more because he was so unsure of everything. Lex couldn't imagine what it must be like to only have a few months of memory. Everything was so new to Clark, that trepidation was warranted, but that wall between them built on too many secrets and far too many lies, was gone. This Clark was open, and if he knew the truth, Lex was certain he'd be the first person he'd share it with, but he suspected Clark knew even less than he did now.

Clark removed the two volume set from the shelves carefully, turning to Lex with the familiar question in his eyes. "Can I borrow these? I mean I can just read them here, it won't take long."

Lex said very delicately. "You do seem to read incredibly fast."

Clark just shrugged. "Yeah, I don't know if I always could, but I can get through most books in less than an hour if I take my time."

Lex tried to hide his mild shock, but Clark caught a glimpse of it, and looked at him with an expression Lex couldn't describe.

He said to him very quietly and very seriously. "Does it bother you?"

"Does what bother me Clark?"

He tried to force himself to meet Lex's gaze. "That I can read faster than most people, among other things.."

Lex knew the dam was beginning to break, but he decided to tread carefully.

"No, of course not, if anything I'm impressed, and you should be too."

Clark nodded, carefully cradling the books in his hand. He ran his fingers over the smooth leather, which was his habit; he seemed to drink in every new sensation, not being able to stop himself from touching everything. He carefully placed the book on a small end table and sat down in the chair next to it to begin to read.

Lex just eyed him curiously. "Clark?"

The book lay open on his lap, and Lex watched his eyes dart back and forth quickly. He didn't look up. "Yes?"

"Why don't we do something else today? I think we can find a better way to spend the afternoon than reading, don't you?"

Clark's eyes stayed glued to the page. "Why?"

Lex walked over and gently extracted the book from Clark's lap. "Because it's all you seem to do. And while I appreciate your company, don't you think you should be getting out more. I know you had some pretty close friends before, and I they probably miss you a lot."

Clark looked up at him, furrowing his brow. "Now you sound like my parents."

"They may have a point Clark."

He sighed heavily. Obviously he hadn't just shown up at Lex's mansion because he wanted to further his reading. The calm mask he'd been wearing since he came in disappeared, and he could see the worry and frustration lining his face.

Lex leaned down towards Clark. "Is there something wrong?"

He shook his head, but Lex could see his bottom lip protrude slightly.

"No, well, they want me to go back to school. I guess it was inevitable."

Lex just smiled. "That doesn't sound so bad."

Clark just shook his head again and managed a weak smile, trying to ignore the thumping his chest at the thought of being thrust into crowded hallways full of other kids, like he'd seen on one too many teen shows depicting the difficult life of high school. He'd told his parents he wasn't scared, but the anxiety rising in him betrayed him.

The subject was broached over breakfast that morning, and when he saw his parents come stand together creating a united front at the kitchen counter, he knew whatever they had to say to him was serious. Words weren't used lightly in the Kent household he noticed. Whereas Lex and Dr. Carr liked to make obscure references and almost talk in riddles at times, the Kents rarely ever said what they didn't mean—his father especially believed in being direct and speaking plainly, which didn't help matters when Clark tried his own brand of reasoning in protest.

When defiant pouting failed to illicit any more than concern from his mother and impatient anger from his father, he'd switched tactics—calmly explaining how there's no way Smallville High could possibly measure up to the edification he received from hours of reading in Lex's library everyday. It had definitely been the wrong approach. Clark wasn't sure if it was the use of the word 'edification' or the mention of how much time he'd been spending at Lex's house that finally made his father put his foot down and declare that the conversation was over, and that  _"..until Lex's library starts handing out diplomas, you're going to school.."_ and he put his mug down harder than he intended and walked out of the kitchen without glancing back.

His mother tried to reassure him, because that's what he imagined mothers did, but all he wanted to do was get out of there and head to the mansion, which more and more provided him with the peace and comfort he never quite felt at the farm. And now Lex was looking at him with the same concerned expression he'd seen on Martha's face, and he inwardly cringed—he didn't want his problems at home to spill over here. As if sensing this, Lex changed the subject. He wanted to let Clark feel he was concerned about him, but this was a place where he didn't have to talk about anything he didn't want to.

Lex started to walk towards the game room. "Why don't I teach you how to play pool? I hear you can even use geometry to get the perfect shot everytime."

Clark perked a little and rose from the chair.

"Oh," Lex added lightly. "You could always just not go to school you know."

Clark seemed to give the statement more credence that Lex intended, and stopped to ponder for a moment why the thought to simply disobey never occurred to him. It was if obedience was so engrained in him it had become as natural as breathing.

"No, I don't want to cause any more problems than I have to. I'll go, besides I have no idea what school would be like…so maybe I'll enjoy it." He sounded doubtful.

Lex looked at him sympathetically. "Well always know you have a place to come when your day has been too rough. Come on, I'll show you how to rack."

Clark grinned as he strolled past him towards the game room. "Thanks Lex, and I'm pretty sure I can beat you by lunchtime."

Lex just laughed, and followed Clark to the pool table.

 

* * *

 

Martha watched her husband stubbornly take out his frustrations on their poor defenseless tractor. She knew the cause for his anger wasn't just about Clark not wanting to go to Smallville High, both of them expected a lot of resistance to the idea, and agreed to treat it the same way they handled Clark going to kindergarten for the first time, only without the tears and holes punched in the walls. She decided to take him a glass of ice tea, and a shoulder to lean on.

"Jonathan, what did that tractor ever do to you?"

Jonathan glanced up, wiping his brow, smirking a little in spite of everything and took the cool glass from his wife's extended hand.

"Its broken just like everything else around here."

Martha looked at him worriedly and a little startled. "Jonathan…"

He exhaled slowly. The August heat was particularly oppressive today, but that was the least of his problems—he had a son whom he loved dearly, that he no longer knew how to talk to.

In the past, he and Clark had shared this unspoken bond that transcended the need for words. Not that they couldn't talk for hours, especially at the height of harvest, when they'd spend hours in the field, side-by-side, with Clark deliberately taking his time, just so he could enjoy Jonathan's company. It was simple times like those that Jonathan missed the most.

Clark still worked in the fields along side him and by now had re-learned to do all his farm chores like a pro, but there remained an awkwardness between them. Clark was like a toy that'd been broken and put back together wrong—all the pieces were there, but somehow it didn't work the same. He knew it wasn't Clark's fault, and he held faith that in time, he'd have his son back, but part of him grew more and more impatient, especially when Clark seemed to find an ease in Lex Luthor's company that was lacking between them.

Martha stood waiting patiently for him to pour out everything he'd spent the last couple of hours pounding into the broken tractor. But how could he explain that a simple word like "edification" and that slight look of smugness that passed across Clark's face as he declared the education he'd gotten for the past three years inferior to the one offered in mountains of ancient books at Lex's mansion; made him feel positively murderous and he resisted the urge to hunt down Dr. Carr and make him pay for the son that was stolen from them.

The thing that pained him most was that fact that Clark was there, he could see him. For the most part he was still the same kind-hearted boy they raised—nothing could erase that, but there was a new arrogance, and self-centeredness about him that crept up at times that troubled Jonathan, and made it even clearer that this wasn't the same boy that left that morning seven months ago to look for a stray calf on the outskirts of the farm.

He looked at his wife finally. "I'm sorry Martha. I just worry sometimes that we'll fail him, and now we don't have a lifetime of influence to help us."

She slipped an arm around his shoulder. "Jonathan, I know Clark will remember everything about us in time, you just have to have patience." She smiled at him, tugging him closer. "And I know the Kent men aren't known for their patience, but try, for Clark's sake."

He sighed, relaxing into her embrace. "I know Martha, and I know we love him, but what if that isn't enough?"

She bent down and lightly kissed his cheek, but he could feel her tremble slightly when she answered him. "It'll have to be…its all we have."

 

* * *

 

The pale, waxen features of Clark's face slowly game into focus. His skin was tinged a sickly jade and framed by damp curls plastered to his forehead. The camera jerked and pulled back to reveal that Clark sitting on a hard slate floor, in a dark room, illuminated by a single light. Dr. Carr adjusted the image on the screen, and turned up the audio on his computer. He remembered this time well. Clark had been given the final trial of meteor rock enhanced Midazolam, mixed with Ketamine, which had kept him in a semi-conscious state for days as they calmly implanted new memories and erased old ones through tireless sessions of brain-washing.

An obviously exhausted Clark muttered to himself that his parents were not dead, that he was found in a field. Dr. Carr listened as he heard his own voice on the disc say,

"We did find you in a field Clark, your parents died that day too."

He watched Clark shake his head drowsily as his eyes pooled with tears that slowly slid down his cheeks.

Dr. Carr shut off the video and leaned back in his chair. It gave him satisfaction to watch the footage, to see the hard work and all they had accomplished in such a short time—

everything that Lex Luthor was now trying to take away from him.

He knew Lex had his men were searching all over Metropolis for him, and that he would make him pay dearly for avoiding him for almost a week. After receiving Lex's frantic phone call six nights ago, he knew he'd been careless and left behind some evidence of the procedures they'd performed on Clark. It was the one thing Lex hadn't gotten his hands on—the footage he kept at his small apartment in the Metropolis suburbs, away from the Institute. Now Lex would demand to know the details of their findings and Dr. Carr would lose everything. He needed time to think.

He slipped another disc into the drive, and watched with fascination as the image of Clark's frightened eyes filled the screen as they placed him onto a cold steel table.


	8. Chapter 8

"…Mr. Kent, are you paying attention?"

Clark watched with slight fascination as the teacher's bones gave way to a twisted mass of muscles and tendons and was finally covered by smooth flesh that stretched and creased as she frowned at him. His vision returned to normal in time to see grey eyes leveled at him, unflinching as she tried to get his attention for the third time.

The answer to her question was "No.", he was not paying attention. He had no interest in the formation of the EEC. He'd read an entire book on the subject in Dr. Carr's rooms when he'd grown curious about the history of Modern European Economics after watching a Biography Channel special on the three richest men in the world. So he had little interest in hearing a lecture on a subject he was certain he knew more about than the teacher. Not that she was terrible—he wouldn't know. He rubbed absently at his temple, as if the simple act would thwart the headache that'd been increasing steadily since he entered the building that morning.

His brain was acting like a broken film projector, flicking around, coming in and out of focus, showing him snatches of images that disappeared before he could grasp what they were. It made concentrating almost impossible. And now he was supposed to find the answer to a question he hadn't heard, when he already felt he was skating on thin ice with the teacher.

She'd been staring at him with increasing suspicion ever since he finished the pop quiz (that's what she'd called it) she'd given them to test whether or not they'd done the required summer reading. Clark had read quickly through the three assigned books during breakfast that morning, so it was all still fresh in his mind. He finished the test in less than one minute; very pleased with himself, when it slowly dawned on him that his fellow students had barely picked up their pencils, and the boy next to him was frowning with consternation at question number one.

Clark quickly huddled back over his paper, but it was too late, the teacher had seen his head spring up, and worse, had seen him look over at the other student's paper. The sound of her heels clicking against the cheap linoleum made his head throb, and Clark vowed silently to get a handle on his extraordinary hearing once and for all.

She held out her hand for his paper, which Clark handed to her silently. The smug anger, slowly turned into confusion as she looked down at his completed quiz, then glanced over at the boy next to him still struggling over the first question. She gave Clark an odd look, the look he'd seen often in the Institute staff, and always hated—embarrassment mixed with anger and frustration.

She cleared her throat and said. "If you're finished Clark, you can get started on the first chapter."

A few students glanced over at him in surprise, and he noticed their pens started to move just a little faster. A girl with blond hair and a sharp look about her kept glancing his way. She held his gaze for a moment, and he was surprised to see a small sympathetic smile on her face. He returned the smile quickly and opened his book. The teacher had continued to eye him suspiciously throughout the remainder of class, and now he'd given her another reason to be annoyed, judging by her exasperated tone.

"Clark, I asked you a question."

Clark sat up straighter in his seat, "I'm…I'm sorry Mrs. Costner, I didn't hear the question."

She sighed heavily. "What reasons did the British government give for not joining the EEC, and which country's Prime Minister agreed with their reasoning?"

Clark rattled off a near perfect explanation as if he were reading it directly from the text, which only served to further puzzle Mrs. Costner.

She cleared her throat, deciding to hold back a little on her reprimand.

"That's correct…please pay attention next time Mr. Kent."

Clark nodded and cast his eyes back down towards his book, his cheeks burning with the realization that he had again called attention to himself without meaning to.

The day didn't get any easier from there—between breaking a test tube in chemistry lab to nearly scorching the blackboard during the sex education introduction in Biology, and to finally angering his teacher in Western Lit. class, by correcting his analysis of Kafka's 'Metamorphosis (a personal favorite of his); Clark had quite enough of High School.

Everything he'd been taught to value and develop during his time at the Institute he suddenly had to hide. His abilities were an integral part of him, and a source of much pride; without them, he didn't quite know who he was.

The lecture he received from his parents the night before didn't help matters. For a solid hour they drilled into his head the importance of not drawing attention to himself. No one could know about his powers, they wouldn't understand, and they wanted Clark to have as normal an existence as possible. So where did that leave him exactly?

Unfortunately, at moment in an over-crowded hallway, pressed up against school lockers trying to become one with the cheap colorful metal. He was trying hard to keep from bumping into anyone again after discovering the hard way how detrimental his body colliding with an unsuspecting shoulder could be to another person.

No amount of apologizing seemed to appease the other student, who backed away alarmed immediately after the collision. It left Clark feeling more frustrated than ever.

He stood in the entry way of an empty classroom and looked at his schedule. Phys Ed. was next, which meant physical activity. Clark sighed heavily and decided after the morning he'd had, he wasn't up to the challenge of trying to hide his strength and speed. He waited until the hallway thinned out and slipped down the nearest stairwell into the basement of the school.

* * *

Chloe watched her friend squeeze his large frame into a doorway, looking completely overwhelmed by the bustling hallways of Smallville High. She wanted desperately to go over to him, and…what? He had no idea who she was, and it just felt strange to introduce yourself to the boy you'd known since that first awkward day of Eight Grade.

She was at a lost. The Kents told her a couple of weeks after his return, that she could come and see him, that'd he'd accepted Lex as his friend and in fact spent a lot of time with him now. But Chloe hesitated, and finally the weeks slipped into months, and here they were, sharing the same school hallway as strangers. She knew it was cowardly of her not to approach him, but after the history they shared, it would pain her too much to have him look at her like she was any other student wandering the halls.

Still, she knew what he needed most right now was a friend—a friend that wasn't Lex Luthor. Chloe watched the other students disappear into classrooms as the last ring of the bell vibrated in her ears, and then slipped across the hall, following Clark down the stairs.

* * *

The basement of Smallville High was certainly a sharp contrast to the rest of the school. The walls and lockers of the other floors were painted in blinding reds and yellows, and down here, everything was a stoic blue-grey. For Clark the color signified peace and order. The halls were deserted and he decided to duck into the first room he saw for a much needed break. The fact that the door was locked was of no consequence for Clark, and the knob twisted easily in his hand.

The room was full of large gray cylinders that hissed and hummed, emitting faint wisps of steam. He slouched down against the wall, letting his back slide until he sat on the hard slate floor. Drawing his knees up towards his chest, he glanced up at the pipes snaking along the ceiling. The whole room seemed alive and it gave him an odd comfort despite the stifling air. Even the whir of machinery was peaceful compared to the chaos and din of noise beyond the door. He hoped the change of scenery would help his headache disappear.

He let his schoolbag slip to the floor, and slouched down even further. He reached into his bag and pulled out a much worn copy of Walden, along with four other books, and settled down to read for the next couple of hours.

The basement halls were deserted, though Chloe knew she'd seen Clark head down that way. Of course with his speed, he could be anywhere. Still she walked down the hall, hoping to find him. Then she heard the distinct sound of a book hitting the floor, and she retraced her steps until she stood in front of the door to the boiler room— home to many clandestine teen romps, and now Clark Kent.

She glanced in the small window and saw the familiar mop of dark hair. She remembered to knock a moment too late, and the doorknob was already twisting in her hand. Clark looked up startled when she entered the room, and she saw a flicker of recognition in his face, and felt elated until she realized they'd already had a class together that day.

Clark just stared at her in surprise, as she gingerly opened the door with a sheepish look on her face. He recognized her from Economics class, and wondered how she knew he was there. He sat up straighter, not really sure what to do, since he could offer no plausible explanation for why he was there.

She shut the door softly behind her, and edged a little closer to him, trying hard to smile and appear relaxed.

"Um..Hi."

Clark eyed her cautiously. "Hi."

She held out her hand, and then seemed to think better of it. She shifted on her feet for a moment, then finally let out an exasperated sigh, throwing her hands up in defeat.

"I had this whole speech prepared, and the minute I see you it all goes out the window…." She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the odd look Clark was giving her. "Ok, I'm Chloe, and you don't know me, ok, well you did know me, we used to be best friends, and I…I'm not sure what I want exactly. But I saw you come down here, and you looked a little upset, so I thought I'd see if you were Ok."

Chloe took another deep breath, wanting very much to run out the door and dart back up the stairs and pretend none of this ever happened.

Clark glanced down at the books sitting next to him, quietly wishing to be left alone, but he remembered what Lex said about him having friends that missed him, and his parents imploring him to try and be friendly, and put on his best smile for her.

"Thank you..Chloe…?", She nodded. "..but I'm fine. I just wanted to be somewhere quiet for a while."

She gave him a small smile, noting that she could no longer read his face. "Pretty overwhelming out there huh?"

"Yeah..I guess I'm not used to all the people yet."

Clark began toying with the edges of the book in his lap, and Chloe squeezed her bag closer to her, looking for something to say that would dispel the awkward tension between them.

"Well, to be honest, most of them are pretty scary." Clark smiled politely at her attempt at humor and Chloe wished the floor would open up and swallow her.

She sighed. "Wow, this is really awkward, I'm sorry. I guess to you its like some strange girl just invaded your space and it demanding you be friendly to her."

His smile was genuine now. "Kind of."

She laughed a little at his honesty. "I think that's my cue to get out of here, and try to make fifth period."

Clark smiled good naturedly, "Chloe, thanks for checking on me. I guess I'll see you in class tomorrow."

She turned towards the door. "Not exactly the best of circumstances, but it'll do. See you tomorrow Clark."

He laughed lightly. "Bye."

He waited for her to leave, then got up and moved, so his back was against the door. That way no one else walking by would see him through the window—not that he minded her visit. He vaguely wondered what their friendship had been like. From all he could gather he'd always been kind of quiet and she was decidedly—not.

He put Walden back in his bag, and picked up another book Lex had given him. At the time he thought it an odd choice and almost felt insulted that Lex had given him a children's book to read. But he'd found many parallels between himself and young Heidi.

At first glance it would seem that the Kents paralleled the Grandfather with the idyllic mountain setting, and the Institute was the Doctor's home in Frankfurt. But Clark saw it the other way around—the Grandfather represented the simplicity of life with Dr. Carr, and his home in Smallville resembled Frankfurt, and was full of complications and expectations he wasn't sure he could fulfill. Lex had understood this, which surprised Clark, and he made him feel less guilty about not feeling completely comfortable on the farm.

He glanced at his watch. There was just a little over 90 minutes left in his first day in High School and there he was holed up in the boiler room, not exactly a promising start. He had no idea if he'd ever be able to join the giggling masses, and right now he wasn't sure if he cared. Clark sighed, and started to read. He prayed things would eventually get easier.

* * *

When Clark arrived home, he expected to be greeted by big smiles and inquiries about how his day went. What he did not expect was the stern faces that greeted him instead. They were both standing at the kitchen counter, and Jonathan was holding a mug in his hand—something was definitely wrong.

He walked past them, waving as he headed upstairs, but a sharp "Clark" stopped him in his tracks. He really didn't know why he thought that would work. He slowly descended the only two steps he managed to climb, cursing himself for not using his superspeed.

There was no point in avoiding them, so he walked over to the opposite side of the counter.

"Did something happen?"

Jonathan kept his stern face intact. "The school called. It seems you disappeared after lunch. Would you like to explain that?"

He honestly didn't feel like listening to a lecture. His head was throbbing

"I decided I needed a break."

Jonathan stared at him like he had two heads. "You needed a break?" Then a gentle hand on his arm made him soften his tone. "Look Clark, I know this is hard for you, but you need to give yourself a chance to get used to things. Running off and hiding isn't going to solve anything."

Clark was starting to feel completely exasperated. "I wasn't hiding, I was just…I wanted some peace."

His mother glanced at his father, and came around the counter towards him.

"We understand how overwhelming this all must be to you, but you can't skip classes honey."

Clark stepped back putting out his hands.

"Look..I'm trying ok! I'm doing everything you ask. You wanted me to go back to school, and I went. I hate it, but I'm going. Tomorrow I'm going to get up in the morning, and go, even though it's the last place I want to be. I'm doing my best, and I don't know how much more you want me to do!"

His face was flushed with anger, and he was as shocked as his parents seemed to be to realize there were tears in his eyes. The throbbing in his head increased and he just wanted to get out of there and go curl up with a book in Lex's library—but Lex wasn't home, he'd stopped there first before coming home. Ever since he stepped foot into Smallville High, the barrage of images was overwhelming, and none of it made any sense. He wished he could turn his brain off and just rest. He cursed inwardly for getting emotional, but he was frustrated and tired, and he just needed to go to his room.

His mother slipped an arm around him, tightening her grip when he tried to pull away.

"We just want you to be ok sweetheart, and I wish we knew how to help you better, but we're doing the best we can too."

Clark nodded, and carefully pulled away. "I just need to lie down."

He didn't wait for a response, all they felt was a soft whoosh of air, and the walls rattle when Clark's bedroom door slammed.

* * *

Dr. Carr carefully set down the cup of tea he'd been drinking. He made sure the coaster was in place, not wanting any rings to appear on the polished mahogany of his desk. He leaned carefully back in his chair until his eyes could see above the screen of his open laptop. A small knowing smile pulled his thin lips into a curved line as he watched Lex Luthor's steady approach towards him.

He'd been expecting him for some time; in fact, it shocked him it'd taken someone with the resources Lex possessed over a week to find him. He met his gaze straight on, never letting his smile fade, the worse thing he could do right now is show Lex an ounce of fear.

"I've been expecting you Mr. Luthor."

Lex came and stood at the edge of his desk, never looking away. "Please, call me Lex. We are after all, partners—at least I thought we were."

Dr. Carr broke out into a full smile, but his eyes narrowed. "What exactly do you want Mr. Luthor…I'm sorry, _Lex_."

"I want to know why, after everything we discussed, and all the promises you made, you'd try keeping anything from me. Did you honestly think I'd never find out?"

Dr. Carr smirked "If I hadn't been careless, you probably never would have."

Lex leaned a little towards him, his eyes two cold blades of steel.

"Then you clearly underestimate me."

Dr. Carr slipped his finger through the tea cup handle, moving the cup around on its coaster, trying his best to appear casual, but remained silent, waiting for Lex to play his hand.

Lex stood up and paced the length of the desk. "I want to show me everything you have on Clark Kent. I want all documentation on any procedures performed on him, and most importantly..." He paused for emphasis. "I want to know what his weakness is."

Dr. Carr felt anger rising. He'd worked very hard for a long time, paying his dues first at Summerholt, hoping one day to come across a find that would catapult his career and let him make a true mark in his field. Clark was like a scientist's dream, and now Lex Luthor felt because he had money and power he could swoop down and claim his discovery for his own gains. He'd had enough.

"I'm sorry  _Mr. Luthor_ , but I'm not handing anything over to you. What would I have to gain by giving you everything I've worked so hard for?"

Lex eyed him curiously and seemed to consider his question. He slipped his hand beneath his coat.

"Well…your life for one."

Lex carefully pulled a small handgun out of his holster, and leveled it at Dr. Carr's right eye.

Dr. Carr's eyes went wide with surprise, and he slipped down further in his seat.

"I know the information I need is somewhere in this room, and there's no reason why I can't simply kill you and walk out of here with it. Now whatever happens, I will leave here with everything you have on Clark Kent. The question is— do I leave here with you alive, or dead?"

For a moment, for one infinitesimal second, Dr. Carr had been certain Lex Luthor wasn't capable of murder. But when he glanced at his unflinching gaze, and the steady aim of his right hand, with not so much as a tremor disturbing it, he knew he wouldn't walk out of there alive.

Dr. Carr shut his laptop, powering it down, and placed his hands on his desk. He looked up and Lex, purposely staring into the barrel of his gun. He sighed heavily,

"Alright Lex, you leave me with little choice."

* * *

Martha Kent bolted upright in her bed. She'd been in the middle of a nightmare where she struggled to hold on to a ten year old Clark who dangled dangerously over the edge of a cliff, pleading with her over and over to not let him fall. She could feel his small grip slipping and he screamed her name with tears streaming down his face. Her own scared voice promising him she'd never let him go still echoed in her head as her mind slowly registered the screams were real and coming from Clark's room.

"You're killing me! STOP! Please..let me go home!"

Jonathan was up before her, and sprinting down the hall towards Clark's room. As she neared the room, she saw her husband standing in the doorway, visibly shaken. He seemed to be afraid to move into the room. Martha approached cautiously, terrified of what she'd find. Clark's screams continued to grow louder and more frantic. Once she was by his side, Jonathan seemed to find the strength to enter.

She moved to follow him, but stopped short too petrified to move. Her only son that had always been this strong immovable force in her life sat scrunched into a corner with the shredded remains of his bed sheets around him, shaking, and sweating profusely. His eyes were wide and streaming, looking completely terrified, as he continued to mutter, pleading for his life to unseen assailants.

Jonathan moved towards him, but Clark immediately lashed out at him, causing Jonathan to jump back.

"What do you we do Martha!"

She didn't answer him, she couldn't breathe, yet she couldn't tear her eyes away from Clark. He didn't seem to be aware of them at all—his cries now alternated between howls of pain and begging for help. She knew she had to focus fast and push her own panic away, or Clark would hurt himself or them. He continued to sob uncontrollably, clutching at his chest and stomach. He was clearly in the throws of a night terror.

Martha had read about it shortly after Clark returned home, while she was looking for ways to help him deal with any post-traumatic stress. Now she searched her brain frantically, trying to remember what the experts said to do.

Finally she answered her husband, her voice thick with emotion. "You have to…you have to play along."

He looked back at her alarmed. It was hard to see her husband always so full of answers, always so protective of their family, at a complete lost of how to help their son.

"What do you..?"

She placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to regain her composure. "You have to talk to him…answer him. Don't tell him he's dreaming, he can't comprehend you right now."

Jonathan nodded, and stooped down in front of Clark, moving slowly towards him. Clark shrank back even further, the plaster on the wall shook and fell behind him. Jonathan knew he needed to work fast.

"I'm going to stop Clark…I'm not going to hurt you anymore."

Jonathan felt something sharp twist inside of him, as Clark fell silent and stared at him. All the years seemed to fall away from his face, and Jonathan felt like he was staring into the eyes of a hurt child. He swallowed hard and continued.

"I'm going to let you go home Clark..its ok, you've been…you've been through enough."

A look of pure relief washed over Clark's face. "I…I can go home?"

Jonathan nodded, blinking back his own tears.

Then Clark's eyelids fluttered and he looked at him, as if he was seeing him for the first time.

"Dad?..."

Jonathan almost forgot to breathe. Clark looked at him with full recognition, and for one moment, it was if the last few months had never happened.

He moved to embrace him, when Clark suddenly clutched his stomach, and quickly scrambled to his feet. He pushed past his parents and ran to the bathroom. There he sank to his knees over the toilet bowl and retched violently.

They both knelt beside him, gently soothing him, as the tremors shook his body. They didn't know what else to do. Clark had never been sick like that before and there was no way to know what was wrong with him. Finally, the retching subsided, and Clark fell back against his mother's embrace. He lay there panting, and she gently wiped his mouth and face with a cool cloth.

His brain was slowly returning to reality, as whatever nightmare gripped him receded. Now he just felt exhausted and nauseous, with no memory of the dream that ravaged him only minutes before. He extracted himself from his mother's arms, and attempted to stand. His father moved quickly to help him, and he felt a small pang in his chest when he saw the same detached expression on Clark's face they'd grown used to. Whatever moment they shared in his room, was now just a memory.

Jonathan kept his arms around Clark, despite his protests, and guided him back to his bed. His body still trembled, but Jonathan could feel him getting stronger with every step.

Clark fell back on the bed, and allowed Jonathan to help him remove his now soaked pajamas.

"I wish they would stop." Clark said finally, when he was under the covers and in a fresh t-shirt and bottoms.

Jonathan fixed the blanket just under his chin, like he used to when tucking him in was still allowed. "Do you remember the nightmares?"

Clark shook his head. "Never, I just get a bad headache. I just wish I knew why they were happening. Lex thinks its just anxiety."

Jonathan tried to keep his voice casual. "You told Lex about your nightmares?"

"Yeah, I just mentioned them once…um..Dad?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry about earlier."

Jonathan smiled and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "It's Ok, son."

Clark tried to smile, but it never quite reached his eyes. "I think I'm going to try and get back to sleep."

Jonathan leaned over and kissed his forehead, and Clark did his best not to shrink back.

"Good night son." He walked towards the door, pausing at the threshold.

"Clark?"

He looked up drowsily.

"Do you want me to sit with your for a while, until you fall asleep?"

Clark just shook his head and closed his eyes, rubbing absently at his stomach, as the pain slowly dimmed to a dull ache.

Jonathan stood there watching Clark for a moment, then closed the door gently behind him.

He noticed the light still on in the bathroom, and was surprised to see his wife still sitting on the edge of the tub. She stared with a pained expression at the washcloth she used to wipe Clark's face.

"Martha, what is it?"

She held up the wet cloth, and Jonathan saw small streaks of green there.

"Oh my god…." Jonathan Kent had enough. He was tired of pretending that everything was ok, and that in time everything would get back to normal, that'd they'd eventually have their son back. The truth was, unless they found out what they were dealing with, they'd never have their son back. And now this…his body was dispelling some trace of kryptonite, they knew the familiar color all too well.

"What the hell did those monsters do to him!"

"Jonathan you'll wake.."

Jonathan silenced her with one anguished look. "We're losing him Martha, I can feel it. For one moment, he knew me, I could see it, and then it was gone. And I realized what it meant to have Clark see me..I mean really see me. We can't wait around for him to come back. We need to do something."

* * *

Clark laid on his bed, listening to his parents talk in the bathroom. He couldn't sleep—he didn't know if he'd ever be able to sleep again. Whatever happened must have been a lot worse than normal, and it really seemed to scare them. He could hear his mother crying now, and the sound made him want to run far and never return. He was tired of confusion and pain, and people expecting more than he could give. He wanted to give them their son back, they deserved it. He knew they were parents any kid would be proud to have, but he felt like they were staring at a ghost instead of him, and it made him feel like he didn't exist at all.

Clark sighed heavily, concentrating until he could no longer hear his mother's soft sobs in the bathroom. He slipped further under the comforter trying to think of anything other that where he was, and where he wasn't.


	9. Chapter 9

Clark stood in front of the large barn window watching a calf take its first steps, having entered the world only a couple of hours before. He heard his father rise shortly after the sky turned from deep indigo to azure blue—the early morning light bathing the farm in an eerie calm after such a tumultuous night.

The mother followed the floundering calf with a steady, watchful gaze, mirroring his own mother's, as she peered at him from the kitchen window. He knew that she was aware of him staring back at her, but she didn't look away. She couldn't make out the details of his face, but even the slightest shift of his shoulders and the subtlest incline of his head meant volumes to her. She knew her son, even if he didn't believe that right now—even if she didn't know how to comfort him.

"A mother always knows" she'd told him many times. Even the bovine mother of a calf, whose gait continued to grow in confidence with each passing moment, until finally his strides were steady, and his mother felt it safe to look away. Clark envied its small triumph, and wondered if a day would come when his parents could turn away from him without fear.

He leaned forward, pressing his hands against the window frame, splintering the wood beneath his grasp as he tried again to shake away the remnants of a vision that seemed to play itself on a loop in his head. He was always drowning in it, lungs filling with water, battling an unseen force, trying desperately to get to a mass of twisted metal lying deep  
in murky water. Sometimes he could make out a faint outline of a head, and he always struggled to reach it, but the vision ended there, leaving him drained and out of breath. He had no idea if it was some manifestation of his anxiety; his feeling of not belonging anywhere, or if it was real.

He sank to his knees, letting his bare arms dangle out the window, feeling the sun that was just beginning to rise, warm his skin. He looked up to where his mother stood and saw only an empty window with its floral curtain billowing in the light breeze. The air stirred around him, rustling his thin tee, and he shut his eyes against it, loving the tickling sensation on his face.

His sensitive ears picked up delicate, but determined footsteps making their way towards the barn, but he didn't turn around—he knew who it was. He heard her steps slow to a deliberate, almost fearful pace as she climbed the loft stairs. Finally she stood behind him, but he kept his eyes firmly on the calf that was now running over to join the other calves in the field.

"Clark? How are you feeling?"

"I'm ok." It came out muffled, disappearing into the arm now pressed up against his chin.

She came and sat next to him on the sill. "Maybe you should stay home from school today, you couldn't have gotten much rest."

He glanced at her face. She looked tired and drawn, no doubt hadn't gotten much rest herself last night. Her eyes were rimmed in red, probably from the crying he'd heard coming from the bathroom, while he pretended to be asleep. He felt something long buried stir while he listened, like he'd heard it before, the pain felt old and familiar, but no less terrible.

"I'm not too tired, but I don't think I can face school today."

"That's fine, you can help your Dad out on the farm later."

He just nodded, feeling a growing tension between them rise—he knew there was a subject she was afraid to broach and it probably had something to do with what happened last night.

"Clark…how much do you remember about last night?"

He quickly looked back out towards the fields. His father stood in the midst of the latest crop of corn giving instructions to one of the field hands.

"Not much. I woke up and I felt sick…and I ran to the bathroom."

"So you don't remember the dream at all?"

He shook his head 'no'. He wondered if he should insist on joining his father now. His headache was almost completely gone and he'd do just about anything to avoid the conversation he knew was coming.

"Clark…"

He could tell by her tone—gentle, yet firm, that she wasn't going to let him get away so easily. He immediately got up and walked over to the safety of his bookcase, the only means of escape at his disposal, and pretended to choose a book to read.

"Clark.."

He selected a book off the shelf and sat at his desk, trying not to glance in her direction.

"I know what you're going to say and I don't want to talk about it."

"We can't keep avoiding the subject Clark."

He opened the book and started to read. He knew he was being incredibly rude, and even his mother's patience had its limits, but he could already sense the change in his breathing, and a faint throbbing in his head. He simply didn't want to discuss it.

She walked over to him and gently took the book out of his hands. "Clark, look at me."

He reluctantly met her eyes. "What do you want me to say? I don't even remember what happened."

She took a deep breath, the memory of him pressed tightly in a corner of his room, fighting off invisible tormentors, jarring her a for a moment.

"Something happened to you...it was like you were reliving something horrible—you were screaming in pain Clark. I know this is difficult to hear, but someone hurt you, and we need to find out what you went through.

He felt himself starting to get angry, and he stood up, walking away from her, rubbing his temple. "Why?"

The sharpness of his tone startled her.

"Honey, we just want you to get better."

He looked at her, his jaw tight "I'm not sick."

She walked over to him; she could see the tension spreading all over him. She wished it was easier to talk to him.

"I know you're not sick...your father and I are just worried. You keep having these nightmares, and we just want you back sweetheart, whole."

Her words stung, and suddenly everything he'd been holding back—didn't even know he was holding back came rushing to the fore.

"I am whole."

"What?...Clark, I.."

"I'm whole and I'm here, I'm standing right in front of you, only you can't see me. All you see when you look at me is what you lost. You don't see me at all, because I'm not who you want, and I don't know how to be."

"Oh Clark, no! We love you no matter what. Please don't think that"

But even as she assured him, she knew it was true. She felt sick, all this time they'd tried to hard to be supportive and helpful, and they failed him everyday, all they did was push him further away and make him feel like a stranger in his home. She thought she finally understood why he felt so comfortable at the mansion. Lex treated him like a new friend he wanted to get to know—they treated him like a broken soul masquerading as their son.

Clark looked at her so openly—his eyes bright with tears, that a lump immediately formed in her throat. She could almost count on one hand how many times Clark had cried in her presence since he'd left his toddler years, and recently she'd seen those cheeks streaked with tears too many times, and now they were the cause.

She choked back her own tears and pulled him into a tight embrace. He didn't pull away, and instead relaxed in her arms. His chest felt warm against her, and she felt every shudder as he fought hard not to sob. But all too soon he pulled away, wiping impatiently at his eyes. He shook his head as if admonishing himself

"I'm sorry...It's ok. You weren't trying to hurt me. I don't blame you for wanting your son back."

She felt like her chest would cave in two. "You are our son, please believe that."

He just nodded, and she watched as he gathered up whatever strength he possessed inside of him, and gave her a small smile.

"I'm going for a walk. I'll be back in time for lunch."

"Clark..."

But he didn't answer her. He descended the stairs and headed out of the barn, walking at a deliberate slow pace. It was almost like he wanted to punish her, forcing her to watch his back as it receded into the distance. He didn't break into a full run until he was well clear of the fields.

* * *

"So how did you do it?" Lex had gotten up again to pace the room. Dr. Carr looked drained, and he kept running his hand across his thinning hair, his agitation apparent as he explained in minute detail the experiments they had performed on Clark.

He sighed at this new question, and reached for his now tepid tea. They'd been in the room for hours it seemed, and the sun had long since slipped beneath the small buildings beyond the windows. He felt sickened as he was forced to hand over what amounted to his life's work at the point of a gun to a man he was convinced didn't have the strength of character to use the findings for any real purpose.

He straightened his position in the over stuffed chair, and tried not to let his sense of elated pride show on his face as he explained the simple yet brilliant way they erased Clark's knowledge of himself.

"It was a trial and error in the beginning, using all we knew about the human brain and how it stored memories. We used the amnesiac drugs found as a component of most anesthesia and enhanced it with a diluted meteor solution, since he seemed to have a strange reaction to exposure from it. It may have simply been the refining process that made him ill, since it hasn't really been concluded what effect manipulated meteor rock has, he was the first we'd use it on. But we were able to get results by using trace amounts of the diluted form mixed with the drugs."

Lex stopped pacing and leaned against the chair opposite Dr. Carr, he moved his shoulders trying to shake away the fatigue. He'd intended to return to Smallville before nightfall, but fascination held him there, not wanting to leave until he knew everything.

"You were able to erase all his memory, simply through drugs?"

Dr. Carr smiled a little. "Of course not, it was a very painstaking process, using the most basic principles of brain washing. We kept him in a semi-conscious state, and carefully replaced old memories with new ones, until he was so confused he couldn't trust his own mind. Once we were certain his old memories were at the very least questionable to him, we were able to take the next step and used his own brain's incredible abilities to aid us."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, as you've probably read by now, everything about him is extraordinary, including how his brain functions, but still it functions the same way as a human brain—only better. Our brains protect us from trauma, often blocking memories too painful to deal with. I guess you can say, Clark's brain, and its expertise in protecting him, aided us greatly."

Lex stared at the computer screen again as it played footage of one of the exploratory surgeries performed on Clark. He'd muted the sound almost immediately, not being able to stand the relentless screaming and pleading—or worse, when there was no sound at all—when Clark had seemingly given up and stopped fighting. Looking at Clark's waxen face and vacant eyes stare blankly as men sliced open his flesh—he didn't know how he felt exactly. He was at once repulsed and intrigued. And if he dared to admit it to himself—excited.

But still, that was Clark, someone he'd once called his friend, and whom he'd been spending a great deal of time with. He rubbed the back of his neck a little too roughly, and sighed heavily. Did great knowledge have to come at such a great price?

Lex turned sharply away from the screen, trying not notice that his own skin was now slick with cold sweat. He glanced out the window—the light was changing colors outside—first pale indigo then silver mixed with gold, as the sun began its ascension towards the sky. It was morning already, and he felt the ache of fatigue in every muscle. He wanted to continue, but he needed to get back to Smallville, and plan his next move.

His hand was warm and sticky from holding the gun tightly in his right hand, even though he didn't feel he needed it any more. His point was made—cooperate or die. Dr. Carr may be arrogant, but he wasn't stupid, and he knew now not to underestimate Lex again.

"Gather all the footage you have and give it to me. I'm taking it with me back to the mansion. "

Dr. Carr silently stood and walked over to the paneled wall behind his desk. He slid one of the panels open and revealed a series of shelves inside. An entire row of CD cases covered one shelf. He picked up a black case from the floor and swept the entire contents of the shelf into it, and wordlessly handed the bag to Lex.

"Do you have copies?"

Dr. Carr met his gaze stoically. "I never saw the need to make copies."

"I'm taking your laptop too. It's a necessary precaution." Lex paused, palming the gun in his hand. "If I discover you have copies…"

"Yes I know, you'll blow my head off."

Lex smirked "As long as we understand each other." He picked up the black bag, and slipped the laptop into his briefcase. He finally relinquished the gun, returning it to its holster.

"I know this is painful for you, but trust me, Clark will be in good hands, and I'll see to it that your work was not in vain, so don't worry."

Dr. Carr allowed himself a small smile. "Oh I'm not worried Mr. Luthor. You will fail, and you'll be back. You'll have no choice."

Lex studied him for a moment, then grasped the door handle and slipped out the door without glancing back.

* * *

Lex entered his lab through the garage as soon as he arrived at the mansion. His plan was to immediately get to work reviewing the footage and take notes to hand off to his team later, but the fatigue from earlier had worked its way into every muscle in his body, and he knew there was no point it trying to get any work done now. He placed the briefcase into a safe in the wall—activated only by his fingerprint, and took the small elevator to the main level.

The halls were deserted since he hadn't alerted his staff he was returning, and he was grateful for the solitude. A sliver of light penetrated the darkness of the hall. He walked cautiously towards it, noticing the door to the library was ajar. Peering in he saw a long leg draped over the arm of a chair, a mass of dark hair and several books littered about the floor.

Clark's back was too him, and Lex tried to forget that the last time he saw Clark he was splayed open on a table with his flesh pinned to the side like the frogs in junior high science class. Instead, he focused on watching Clark read as fast as he could turn the pages—the sight never ceased to amaze him.

Lex cleared his throat finally, and Clark's hand paused in mid-air. He turned and saw Lex standing in the doorway looking very tired but happy to see him. He jumped up to greet him, moving a little too quickly, and Lex was aware enough to notice. Fortunately Clark took his smile as a greeting, and returned it, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Is everything ok Clark?"

"Yeah…I'm sorry. You weren't home, and Darius didn't know when to expect you, but he said if I insisted I could wait around." He glanced down at the pile of books. "I'll clean this up..I didn't realize I was making such a mess. I hope you don't mind, I was just reading until you came home."

"No..leave it. Did you read all these since you came?" There had to be a stack of about ten books by the chair leg alone.

Clark, just nodded, no longer self-conscious reading in front of Lex. "I think I'm getting faster."

Lex stared at him for a moment before catching himself and just muttered "Amazing." He knew he was just a step off and did his best to appear as if nothing had changed. But after spending a night going over Clark like a cherished scientific discovery, it was difficult to engage him in a mundane conversation. It only just dawned on him that Clark shouldn't even be there at this hour. Something was obviously wrong.

"Clark. Shouldn't you be in school?"

"Yeah, but my parents said I could stay home today."

"Did yesterday go that badly?"

Clark cast his eyes downward, then sideways, a move he did when he didn't want to discuss the subject. He bent down and began picking up the books and putting them back on the shelves.

Lex waited a moment before going over to Clark. There was no time to dwell on what was right or wrong, there was a higher purpose here, and to achieve it, he knew it he had to cement his place as his only confidante. He wanted very much to study Clark himself, and he knew the task would be much easier if Clark was a willing participant. But he also knew he had to tread carefully.

He placed a hand carefully on Clark's shoulder, knowing he wouldn't pull away out of politeness. He kept his hand there and until he felt Clark's muscles relax, then he spoke very calmly to him, in the most soothing voice he could muster.

"Clark…I know you don't want to talk about whatever happened, but you have to talk to someone. And I hope I can be that person. You keep things to yourself entirely too much. It's unfortunately a trait you've always had, and I understand if you don't want to confide in me, but I'm here if you ever feel like you need to work something out."

Then he let go of his shoulder and waited. Clark turned around a few seconds later, slowly meeting his eyes. He sat down in the nearest chair, resting his hands on his knees, his dark bangs obscuring his face. In that moment, Lex could almost forget what Clark was. He simply looked like a troubled, confused kid.

Clark ran his hand through his hair, and smiled wryly.

"Let's just say school isn't my favorite place right now."

"Did something happen?"

He shook his head. "No..I mean, its just..its more overwhelming than I thought it would be. I don't know what I'm doing. I feel so..I just don't belong there, but I don't know where I belong exactly."

"Clark.."

He looked up finally. "I'm sorry, its ok really, I just need time to adjust."

Lex sat in the chair opposite him. "School isn't easy for anyone. What you're going through isn't that abnormal.

Clark looked at him skeptically, and didn't answer him. The truth was he did want to talk about it, but he didn't even know where to begin. He wasn't sure he could really describe how being in that school made him feel. It wasn't like how he felt amongst the other kids his age at the Institute. Even though his contact with them was kept to a minimum, they were like him, and he didn't have to hide. He felt like every step he took in Smallville High was a lie.

He felt safe here, and he didn't want anything to ruin it. Lex treated him like he was any other person, even seemed excited by the small hint of his abilities he'd shown. Still, he didn't want Lex to start looking at him differently.

Mostly though, he was afraid he couldn't control his emotions once he started opening up.

Lex continued. "But it must have been pretty bad if your parents let you stay home today. I know how important not backing down from a challenge is to them."

"Oh, no, it's not because of school. They were actually a little mad at me when they found out I had cut half of my classes. I had another nightmare, and it kind of kept everyone up."

Lex was suddenly alert. Clark had mentioned his nightmares before, and how his parents suspected they were his memories resurfacing, even though Clark didn't want to believe that.

"Was it bad this time?" He tried not to betray the slight panic in his voice.

Clark shook his head, running his hand across the back of his neck. "I don't remember it...I woke up when I got sick."

Lex made a mental note to call Dr. Carr as soon as he could. "The dream made you sick?"

Clark shrugged. "I guess it did. It's never done that before. I've only ever felt a little nauseous in the past—even at the Institute."

"You had nightmares at the Institute?"

Clark looked at him and something in his expression was almost quizzical, and Lex knew he was pushing a little too hard. Clark nodded silently, and slumped back into the chair, fingering the arm.

An awkward moment passed between them, as Lex watched Clark's continued abuse of the chair arm, obviously unaware he was beginning to tear the fabric.

"Clark you probably should get some rest. You do look tired." His eyes were rimmed in red, but Lex suspected it had little to do with lack of sleep.

Clark looked up, worried. "Do you mind if I stay here for awhile? I don't really want to go home."

"Did something happen at home?"

He tugged absently at his collar, swallowing hard, "No, I just...I said some things I shouldn't have, and I'm not ready to face them yet."

"Clark your parents are the most...Clark?"

Clark was trembling suddenly, and he could feel the library giving way to some other time that didn't exist, as the walls peeled away to reveal a field, and fire and too much noise. _"God..not now...not here.."_

Lex went over to him.

"No! Stay back..please..I'm fine.."

Lex stood there in disbelief as Clark broke out in a sweat, shaking from head to toe. He had no idea what was happening to him, and his first thought was maybe he should call Dr. Carr, and get him out there immediately. Whatever was going on, Clark was fighting it.

He focused hard on where he was, and Lex's voice, refusing to give into whatever delusion was assaulting his mind. He'd had enough of the nightmares and loss of control. He forced himself to see only what was really in front of him, knowing there couldn't be any field, there couldn't be any fire falling from the sky.

Finally the trembling stopped, and his breathing slowed to a steady rhythm. Clark slowly opened his eyes, and the fields were gone. All he saw was the silent room, and Lex staring at him like he wasn't sure if Clark would break, or if Clark would break him.

He felt something in his hand, and looked down to see the arm of the chair nothing more than splintered wood and shredded fabric. He jumped up aghast.

"Oh God!…Lex I'm so sorry."

Lex had been watching the entire time as the solid oak chair turned to dust beneath his grip. "Clark its ok, it was an accident."

He looked completely agitated. Deep crimson spread across his cheeks and tears were forming in his eyes.

"Clark, please, it's ok. It's just a chair, it doesn't matter. Why don't you sit down, and I'll get you something to help you calm down. Ok?"

Clark just looked at him sadly, backing away towards the door.

"I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry Lex. I'll find a way to repay you for your chair."

"Clark I told you, I don't care about the ch..." But Clark was gone, like he was never there at all.

Lex stood rooted in awe for a moment. He'd never seen Clark's speed in action. Finally, he bent to pick up the remnants of his 19th century Chippendale chair, shaking his head—this was going to be hard—very hard.


	10. Chapter 10

The dust settled around him as he came to an abrupt halt. He had no idea how long he'd been running, but the light was beginning to ebb away from the sky, which meant dinnertime was fast approaching. He waited for the panic that always rose in his chest at the thought of disappointing his parents, but it didn't come. He felt nothing. His body felt like it was made of lead—a hollow nothingness encased in metal. The pain and hurt he felt earlier was gone, and perhaps that's why he came to this place, hoping to feel something again, but the building in front of him only reflected his own emptiness.

As he stood there staring at the small cluster of stark buildings, he wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't this. In the two months since he'd last seen the Institute it had fallen to fast disrepair. The grounds that he'd spent so much time lounging on, soaking in the suns rays while reading or listening to Dr. Carr drone on about his latest trial results were now overgrown and littered with trash—no doubt such a large empty space was a welcome playground for vandals, homeless people or worse.

He leapt over the gate in one smooth motion and descended the grassy hill surrounding the property. He kept walking until he stood beneath what was once his room. He stared at the windows for a long time, expecting some silent answer, but the dark windows just stared back at him blankly, and he turned abruptly and walked away. He stopped to rest on the hill, looking at his former home realizing for the first time that it wasn't much of a home at all.

There was no warmth emanating from its imposing gray stone, and with a chill he realized, he never felt much warmth in the evenings he spent with Dr. Carr either. He fell back on the grass, suddenly feeling his anchor slipping away, as the truth weighed down on him. Dr. Carr hadn't returned any of his calls, and he hadn't inquired about him since they'd last seen each other. Maybe he was never anything more than a mystery that needed solving, a fascination—maybe all the time they spent together, always careful to see to his every need was simply placating—Clark shook his head violently. No—not yet, he couldn't think that yet, because where did that leave him?

Firmly planted in a little yellow farmhouse he realized. The Kents didn't really want him, just the person who used to occupy his skin. Still they'd been nothing but kind and patient with him, and he was beginning to accept that they didn't want him to leave even if he couldn't find his way back to being their son—though, honestly, he really couldn't be sure of that, but its what he needed to believe in order to return to the farm. Especially now he'd destroyed his one safe haven.

His thoughts drifted to Lex and the debacle of his visit that morning. He felt the familiar tightening in his chest, but refused to give into it. He'd worry about Lex tomorrow. He laid there in the grass and watched the sun slip behind the gray stone and watched each glint of light on the dark windows disappear. As night fell, and nothing but darkness surrounded him, Clark stood up and bent the bars of the gate wide, pushing himself through. He took one last look at the Institute and sped back to the farm.

* * *

Lex oversaw the move of the damaged chair to his lab himself, not wanting to entrust anyone else with the task. He wasn't sure why he wanted to keep it, he knew he should just call a restorer to assess the damage, but he also knew repairing the chair would lessen its value for him. Whatever was happening to Clark in his library that morning was a clear indication that his brain was fighting to regain itself, and Lex couldn't let that happen, it would ruin all of the plans he had yet to make. Because what was he going to do with Clark? The possibilities seemed endless and yet he was reluctant to follow any one particular path. He knew once he started that journey it would signify an enormous shift for him, the beginning and end of everything he'd previously been, and everything he was destined to become.

He stood in the middle of his lab, standing in front of his ruined chair, letting the full weight of the implication press upon him; trying it on to see if he liked the way it fit. It didn't feel comfortable yet, but he knew it was like a new pair of jeans, and with each wearing it would become more and more comfortable until, finally it fit like a second skin.

Lex sat down in the chair, fingering the arm, the same way Clark had been doing, noticing that his strong, nimble fingers hardly made a dent. Lex still didn't know exactly what he had planned for Clark, but he knew all of this was pointless unless he convinced Clark to pull him back into his confidence again. He stood and killed all the lights in the lab and headed for the Kent Farm, hoping Clark had returned home.

* * *

Martha Kent tried not to let the overwhelming flood of relief show on her face as Clark walked through the kitchen door, and despite her best efforts she couldn't keep from moving too quickly over to him, or keep the smile off her face. She embraced him, and the gratitude she felt when he returned her embrace was overwhelming. She stepped away from him, looking at his face. There was a small smile planted there, and he looked her directly in the eyes. She felt her spine turn to ice as she saw the blankness there that he tried so hard to mask. But he'd returned to them, and whatever happened between the time she watched his back recede across the fields and this moment, she knew he'd made a decision, and that decision made him walk through the door.

"Are you hungry Clark? I'm almost finished making dinner. I got kind of a late start."

He didn't answer her immediately; food was the furthest thing from his mind. He just nodded, and stood there awkwardly for a moment, silently fingering the counter.

Martha watched him, feeling a sense of reassurance at the small act. Its what he always did when he was nervous, even as a child. She smiled to herself and busied herself in the kitchen again.

He willed his fingers to be still, as the edges of the counter started to peel away, knowing he couldn't afford another destructive accident. He'd planned the entire way home what he would say. He rehearsed all the declarations to be a good son, to try to do whatever they felt was best without protest, but now words failed him, his speech seemed empty now. He could only hope the fact that he'd returned at all said all he wasn't willing to say.

He sat down at the counter next to her, trying his best to appear like everything was fine.

"Where'd you go Clark? You were gone a long time. I called the mansion but Lex said you'd left hours ago."

"I just walked around mostly. I know I was supposed to come back and help Dad, I'm really sorry, I guess I lost track of time."

"Its ok sweetheart, your father had plenty of help today. And Clark, we don't have to talk about what happened in the loft earlier. I know there are a lot of things your father and I are still figuring out, and I know we don't completely understand what you're going through, there's no way we could. But the one thing I want you to know is that we both love you, and want you to be happy, so if there's anything you think we're doing that makes you feel unwelcome here, you have to tell us."

Clark just looked at her for a moment. There was nothing but sincere warmth in her eyes; the traces of uncertainty and insecurity seemed all but gone. He realized she must have had her own epiphany in the hours since he left.

He smiled a genuine smile at her, placing his hand over hers. "Ok, Mom, I promise."

Martha gave his hand a firm squeeze and she felt the tension at her touch, but she kept her hand there a moment longer and eventually she felt him relax beneath her fingers. She turned away to begin chopping tomatoes, but she mostly looked away so he wouldn't see the bright tears of joy in her eyes.

 

* * *

Lex paused on the stairs leading up to Clark's loft. The living room light in the farmhouse had just gone out, and now only the light in the kitchen remained on. He knew Martha Kent was busy cleaning up the kitchen after finishing a delicious meal with her family, the aroma of which wafted through the large barn window, carried by the evening breeze.

Clark had become a creature of routine since returning, so he knew that in a few minutes he'd leave the house through the front door—avoiding his mother, and head towards the barn. Lex took a moment to take in the surroundings while he waited. He'd never really paid much attention to the little details and pieces of Clark that cluttered the space. There were two old bookcases that were probably built by his grandfather crammed with books ranging from a tattered copy of the Velveteen Rabbit, to Nortons' Star Atlas and other astronomy books. Recent acquisitions that mainly consisted of classics and books on psychology were neatly piled next to the bookcases on the floor. There was a toy airplane with a broken wing on one of the shelves, and a solved Rubix Cube, a globe that also doubled as a pencil sharpener, and a Wolverine baseball team bobble-head on another.

Before there had been several Native American blankets, no doubt gifts from various workers over the years, strewn over the old sofa and loft railings, but now they were all neatly folded and placed on top of an old chest. This Clark he had noticed was a lot neater, not that Clark had ever been a slob, but his décor in the past was handled with the carelessness you would expect from a teenage boy.

Lex sat down on the top step avoiding any comfort, needing to feel the contrast of the roughness of old wood against his light gabardine trousers. He had spent most of the evening trying to determine the exact amount of force applied to the chair to disintegrate it. He needed more time and more equipment to get a precise reading, but suffice to say, Clark was amazingly strong. He thought part of the reason he came to the farm, aside from needing to win back Clark's confidence was that he needed to be reminded that Clark was real, and made of living flesh, even if he didn't know if that flesh was human. That fact wouldn't deter him from the course he'd now definitely set upon, but it would aid him in figuring out the best way to reach Clark.

The sound of Clark's footsteps pulled him to attention. Judging by the way Clark cautiously approached the barn Lex knew he was probably already aware of his presence. He rose from the steps and stood waiting on the landing. Clark stopped when he saw him, and Lex saw the shame in the slump of his shoulders, as Clark avoided his eyes and looked down, with unsure foot raised to ascend the stairs.

"I was a worried after you ran out of the mansion so fast—I came to check on you. Are you ok?"

Clark glanced up at Lex quickly then returned his gaze to his feet. "Look, I'm really sorry about what I did, I didn't mean to…. I'm not positive what happened, but I didn't mean to lose control like that." He looked up and met his eyes. "I'll find a way to pay you back, somehow."

Lex looked at Clark standing there, still deciding whether to actually face him. There was a new tension in him, an impatience that had little to do with him being sorry for what he did. He suddenly had no doubt that if he told Clark he never wanted to see him again; he would have accepted it without question. He had the look of someone who no longer expected things to go in his favor. Lex decided to take a risk, it could backfire, but he felt like he had few choices now.

"I just came over here to talk. Do you mind if we sit? I promise you, I'm not angry."

Clark just nodded, feeling he at least owed Lex some sort of explanation. He walked up the stairs and sat on the couch. Lex took the desk chair next to it and faced Clark.

"Now, I could care less about a chair. My only concern is you, and whatever it is you're going through."

Clark smiled weakly, trying not to feel embarrassed. "I'm ok, I really didn't' mean to worry you, I'd just had such a frustrating day already….it was just one more thing."

Lex smiled warmly. "Well I know all about bad days."

"I bet you've never ruined an expensive chair because of one."

Lex laughed. "You'd be surprised." He softened his tone. "Clark, how were you able to break the chair? Did Dr. Carr ever say anything about you having extraordinary strength?"

Clark looked at Lex for a long moment, then just nodded. "But he didn't have to tell me, I knew it wasn't normal to be able to lift my bed over my head with one hand to look for something."

It shouldn't have mattered at this point, but Lex couldn't help but react a little to Clark saying simply that he possessed superhuman strength after all this time.

"That's incredible."

"It doesn't make me a freak." Clark said it so softly Lex barely heard him.

"Or maybe it does."

Lex gently placed his hand on Clark's hand that was destroying what was left of the tattered upholstery. Clark froze and pulled his hand away.

"Sorry."

"That's ok, I just thought you probably wanted to give up destroying furniture for a while. "

Clark just grimaced and leaned back on the sofa, his frustration growing.

"It was a joke Clark, I told you already, I don't care about the stupid chair. If you'll let me, I can try and help. Do you want me to contact Dr. Carr for you?"

Clark's eyes lit up for a moment, but then he quickly shook his head. "No…I don't think that'd be a good idea. My parents wouldn't like it."

'I think right now they'd be willing to do anything if they thought it would help."

"I don't think he'd help…I think I'm beginning to realize a few things."

Lex joined Clark on the couch. "About ?"

He shrugged. "I'm beginning to wonder if I was anything more than a science experiment to him. He was kind to me, but there was never much more to our relationship than running tests and me watching movies while he worked…. and talking to him wasn't like talking to you."

Lex did his best to keep his excitement under control. "And what about your parents?"

"Can I talk to them? I suppose I could if I gave them a chance, but I guess I was always afraid of upsetting them. I think I should try and be a little more open with them, they've been nothing but patient with me. The only thing I don't like is having to hide. They drilled me for a long time about hiding what I can do from others. But I guess I can understand why. "

"Well you never have to hide anything from me Clark. I think what you can do is an incredible gift."

"I wish I could believe that."

"Trust me, People have been writing amazing stories about people with your abilities for centuries. They're nothing to be ashamed of."

Clark smiled bitterly. "Stories are one thing…but seeing something right in front of yours eyes,…It probably scares most people."

"Maybe, but just know you have somewhere to come where you can completely be yourself. So, are we good?"

Clark smiled and nodded. "I can't thank you enough for not being angry with me."

Lex rose from the couch and walked towards the stairs. "What's a little broken furniture between friends?"

Clark laughed, a rare sound from him. "Good night Lex."

"See ya Clark."

The full moon had slipped behind the clouds, casting an eerie luminescent glow over the farm. Lex turned and looked back towards the barn. Clark was silhouetted in the window and waved when he saw Lex looking up. Lex waved back, taking a deep breath, assuring himself that he could do what needed to be done. His phone rang as he climbed into his car.

"Yes."

"Lex, we just checked on Carr, he's gone again, the whole place cleaned out."

Lex put the car in reverse, and smoothly backed out of the Kent drive.

"Let him go. Its better if he just stays out of my way. If you find him in the area again; let me know."

"Do you want us to still keep a surveillance on the place?"

"No, meet me in town tomorrow. I have something more important for you to do."

* * *

Clark waited for the light to go off in the kitchen before finally returning to the house. He didn't notice his father sitting by the fireplace, reading under a small lamp in the living room until he spoke.

"Clark? I saw Lex's car out there, what did he want this late?"

He resisted the urge to pretend he didn't hear him, and walked into the living room.

"Nothing really, he just wanted to see if I was OK" He regretted saying that as soon as the words left his mouth.

His father removed his glasses and looked at him. "Is everything Ok, son."

"Yes…Dad. I was just a little down earlier when I visited him. I'm ok now."

"Listen…Clark, your mother told about your talk earlier, and I just wanted you to know how sorry I am, I know I've made some mistakes, but I think if we all can just be honest with each other, it'll make things a lot easier, for all of us."

"I promise."

Jonathan smiled. "Good. You should probably get some sleep, you have school tomorrow."

He had forgotten all about going to school in all the excitement of the last twenty-four hours. He wanted to protest, but he swallowed hard and just nodded.

"Goodnight Dad."

"Goodnight, Son."

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

Clark wondered if in his previous life he'd been a morning person. Of course he probably had been, growing up a farmer's son. He sighed heavily wishing at least an inkling of that part of himself remained. The alarm clock blinked repetitively at him—or what was left of it. A clock hadn't yet been made that was a match for a super-powered being determined not to get up on time. He looked up sleepily at the sun glaring through the blinds, which meant he had once again overslept. The agreement was that he rise with his father and take care of feeding the animals and cleaning out the stalls—a job he loathed but never complained about—before breakfast. It was 7:30 already, so he barely had time to shower, dress and eat, even if he used his speed. He didn't know why his parents let him sleep in, but he was grateful.

He sped through his shower fully intending to dress in a hurry, but the choices in his closet made him come to a dead stop. It was definitely no accident that all the clothes he'd packed from the Institute were relegated to the back of the closet, and the front was a sea of plaid and bright colored tees. He rooted around in the back until he pulled out a dark navy polo shirt with a single maroon stripe across the chest. The fabric was a lot softer than most of the tees and flannel, and he smoothed it against his chest, smiling a little at his silliness. After selecting the least baggy pair of jeans he could fine, he zipped downstairs for breakfast.

* * *

 

He arrived at school before the others, shrugging off his father's offer to drive him, instead preferring to run. Nothing was ever intimidating with all the people and noise removed, and Smallville High was no exception. He wandered the brightly colored halls, listening to his feet echo against the linoleum. If he memorized the hallways, he thought maybe he'd be able to use his speed in between classes; as long as he knew where he was going, he could weave through the people pretty easily he hoped. His parents would flip if they knew he was contemplating using his powers away from the farm, but if he was going to survive life in Smallville, he'd need to make his own rules.

A quick glance at his watch told him he had at least twenty more minutes of peace before the other students arrived. Most of the teachers were congregated in a room he passed that emitted the overwhelming aroma of burned coffee, and a few were in empty classrooms shuffling papers and writing on the chalkboards.

A loud clicking sound—at least it was loud to him, drew him to a room at the end of the hall. He peaked in and saw Chloe, the blonde girl he'd met his first day of school in the boiler room. She was typing away on her green computer with such ferocity she didn't even notice him standing there. He decided to ignore all his usual impulses and not slip away, instead he continued to watch her, silently hoping she'd look up. She'd mentioned they knew each other before, and he promised himself he'd try and expand his social circle beyond Lex.

"Give me two minutes Jordan, I just need to finish this sentence."

Apparently she thought Clark was someone named Jordan, he kept silent and waited. Chloe finally looked up less than a minute later and was startled to see her former friend standing in the doorway.

"Clark! Hi, um…. come in!"

Clark was equally startled by her enthusiasm, which must have read plainly on her face, because she immediately calmed her tone.

"Sorry, I was just surprised to see you there. Is everything ok?"

Clark was still standing in the doorway, fingering the jam. "Yes, I just heard you and wondered who was here this early…"

Chloe laughed a little. "Oh I'm always here, a permanent fixture, they'll probably have to surgically remove me after graduation."

Clark entered the room, looking around at the array of bright colors everywhere. This town definitely seemed to never shy away from vibrant paint.

"What is this place?"

Chloe watched him wander around the room, and she felt a small pang remembering the countless hours they had all spent there, first with Pete, and then just the two of them. Most of the time, when she thought of Clark, she thought of him perched on the edge of one of the desks, playing with her airplane phone, or tapping a pencil in the air, never being able to keep his hands still, and judging by the way he fingered everything, it was a habit he retained.

She swept her arm dramatically in mock pride. "This is the Torch office—the school newspaper, and I'm editor, and you used to be on staff here, though technically I guess you still are."

"I worked on the school newspaper?"

Chloe smiled. "Well, getting you to turn an article in on time was like pulling teeth, but you turned in some pretty decent articles once in a while, and you were really helpful at the investigating part."

Clark, without thinking sat on the edge of the desk opposite her. He realized that Chloe probably knew about a part of his former self that neither Lex nor his parents knew about.

"Was I lazy?"

"No, just…well you did things in your own time, I liked to call it "clark time". But I could always depend on you."

Clark just nodded, now dreading the sound of the first bell in just three minutes.

"Well, I guess school is about to start, and I need to drop off a note from my parents for yesterday." Clark rose and slung his backpack over his shoulder, heading for the door.

"Clark, you know if you still want to work on the paper, I'd love to have you back."

He paused and looked at her. "I'll think about it."

"Ok, well you know where to find me. See you later Clark."

He waved bye, and she watched him go, and tried to keep her elation that he had sought her out under control. It didn't mean anything, but seeing him again made her realize just how much she missed him all these months.

* * *

 

School was much easier than it had been on the first day. He studied the other students, learning their behaviors; when to ask a question, and when to give a wrong answer, and he'd surmised the acceptable length of time it took most people to finish a test. He returned smiles, and said "Hi" whenever greeted in the halls, and even managed to have two very brief conversations with another student. By the time lunch rolled around, he was all smiled out and just wanted a moment of peace. He avoided the cafeteria, and made his way towards the room he'd met Chloe in that morning, hoping it'd be unoccupied at that hour.

There was no sign of Chloe when he got to the room, and the door was locked. He glanced around the hall quickly and twisted the knob until he heard the lock give. There was definitely something drawing him to this place, and he guess it was the fact that he'd probably spent a lot of time there and some part of him remembered. He sat at the desk closest to the window, closing his eyes for a moment as the rays of sun fell across his face. He pulled out the lunch his mother had prepared for him—a cold meat loaf sandwich topped with provolone cheese on whole grain bread. Even his father wrinkled his nose at his odd new favorite meal, but his mother prepared it for him happily. He smiled when he saw she had included a piece of the apple pie he spotted on the counter last night, and of course she'd never forget his half-quart of milk.

Clark leaned back in the chair, and pushed the computer keyboard out of his way and began enjoying his lunch. He let his eyes sweep the room while he ate and wondered why he hadn't taken a closer inspection of the main wall before. It was covered with articles and pictures, but he had assumed they were just past clippings from the school paper. For the first time he noticed a few of the headlines "Boy with amazing stretching ability". "Bee Girl Arrested--Taken to Belle Reve"...There were so many, one more bizarre than the next.

He stared for a long time, letting his eyes trail over the wall until he'd read every article twice. His whole body felt like it'd be doused with ice water and he stood there stock still letting the information sink in. There were others like him. Whatever had happened to him that day, he wasn't the only one. This green rock had caused mutations in everything from cattle to other students, and Chloe seemed to be collecting information on all of them.

"Hey, how'd the lock get brok…Clark?"

Chloe noticed the door ajar as she passed the Torch office, and was pleasantly surprised to find Clark in there, until she realized what he was staring at. She froze for a moment, unsure of what to do. All indications said Clark heard her come in, she'd seen the slight shift of his neck, and his eyes move towards the door, but he didn't move.

If she had something resembling foresight, she would have prepared him for this, maybe introduced him to the wall when he was there that morning. But she'd be so surprised and so happy to see him, she didn't have time to think. And now that wall must seem like some sort of tabloid monstrosity exploiting people like him.

She'd known about Clark's abilities before he disappeared—she found out purely by chance, though she'd always suspected there was something strange about him. He was gone before she had the chance to talk to him about it, and now she wasn't sure how much the Kents had told him about himself, if they had even told him he was a meteor freak. She winced, and silently reminded herself not to even think that term anymore—there as nothing freakish about her best friend.

"Clark?"

He turned to look at her finally, but she couldn't read his expression.

"I didn't realize, I didn't realize there were others…"

"That there were others like you?" She decided there was no point in keeping up the pretense.

Clark turned and looked at her sharply and his eyes widened with surprise. "You know? but how?"

"I saw you use your abilities once…I mean I've always suspected."

He walked over to the desk and sat on the edge staring at her, looking confused. "But I've been pretty careful I thought, where did you see me?"

"It was before you left, I wanted to tell you, but I never got the chance."

Clark furrowed his brow, his confusion deepening. "What do you mean before?"

It was Chloe's turn to look confused. "Before you disappeared…"

Clark felt a panic rising in his chest, a reaction to something he knew should be clear, but his brain wouldn't allow it into his consciousness. "But they found me unconscious after a blast they said, and that's when  _this_ happened to me….I wasn't."

Chloe's stomach dropped; she felt sick. He didn't know; how could she have assumed he did? But she had no way of knowing what story he was told, no details of his disappearance had been released, she didn't even know where'd he been.

"Oh god, Clark..I.." She watched the color drain from his face.

He was careful not to understand the full implications of that—maybe Dr. Carr hadn't lied, maybe they just assumed his mutation occurred in the blast—but what if there had never been any blast. He thoughts drifted to the other "patients" at the hospital. He never really knew why they were there; he assumed they were sick, he was never really allowed to associate with them. But what if they were others just like him. He took a deep breath, trying to stay focused. There was no reason for him to think such things that would only upset him.

"So.." he said very evenly. "I was always like this?"

Chloe nodded very slowly. "I'm sorry Clark, I thought you knew. I'm really sorry."

Neither of them said anything else for a long moment. Clark just sat there staring at the wall. Chloe just watched him, cursing herself and waiting patiently for his reaction.

He looked away from the wall, then slowly bent down to pick up his discarded backpack, leaving the remnants of his lunch scattered on the desk. He glanced at it quickly, but rose to leave.

He mumbled softly. "The bell is about to ring."

"I really am sorry Clark."

Clark looked at her, and gave her a small crooked smile that was all too familiar.

"Its ok Chloe. I'll see you in class."

Clark walked out the door and kept walking until he reached the back doors of the school, then he sprinted across the fields in a dark blue blur heading back towards the farm.


	12. Chapter 12

The images and words from Chloe's bizarre wall ran through his head as Clark blurred into the farm. He came to an abrupt stop at the back porch as if his legs couldn't carry him any further. They felt leaden and tired, and climbing the hand-full of steps leading to the porch seemed impossible. He shook his head knowing his pain was not physical and started up the steps, then collapsed heavily on them, letting his head fall forward. He was tired of feeling like this—feeling like he was incomplete. For weeks he felt like he was just holding his breathe, waiting, though he had no idea what he was waiting for, but he felt part of it lay with whatever he thought the Kents could tell him. Even though the idea of the truth of what connected him to those articles on the wall terrified him, at least if he knew, maybe he'd stop feeling like half a person.

He forced himself to stand and stood on the top step and watched the cattle move slowly across the fields in the distance, thinking the sight should move him somehow, knowing that sometime in the past it had. He felt no real connection with this place, and the only place he had felt a part of was all a lie. He slowly uncurled his fingers that gripped the railing post so hard they left indents in the softening wood, and walked to the door.

He slammed the door loudly behind him as he swept into the kitchen, shocking both him and his mother who stood at the sink rinsing a glass. More shocking was the anger he felt the moment he stepped into the idyllic house. Everything was in polite order around him and inside he'd never felt more chaotic.

One look at his face and Martha knew something was very wrong. She set the glass down and walked over to him, taking him by the shoulders. Clark took a step back and looked at her with glassy eyes.

"Clark, what is it?"

His blue-green eyes were almost gray. "I …I need to ask you something."

Jonathan walked into room, his steps slowed when he saw the scene in front of him. Clark was standing by the door, like he was afraid to enter the kitchen—not afraid of them, but afraid of himself. Every muscle in his body was tensed and he trembled slightly. Jonathan rushed into the room, but Martha held her hand up to stop him.

"What is it honey?, sit down."

Clark glanced at the chair, but remained standing. "Was I born like this?"

Jonathan's heart sank deep into his stomach. He cursed inwardly at their stupidity at letting fear govern their decisions. He glanced at his wife, at the face he knew so well. He saw her features cracking beneath the mask of calm she wore for their son, but he knew inside she was breaking. They'd talked about this moment countless times, each of them afraid to be the one to say, "today we tell him." And now he'd found out and it should have come from them.

There had always been this silent agreement between them that this of this magnitude were handled by Jonathan, but when he saw the pain and intensity on his wife's face he knew to step back.

"Why do you ask that?" Martha knew she was just vying for time until her heart stopped thumping in her chest and she figured out how to answer him.

Clark felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice about to plunge.

"Dr. Carr always told me I was found in a field after an explosion and there were all these strange radiated rocks, and that he thinks that caused me to be…like this." He paused briefly and took a deep breath, remembering the dozens of headlines and articles about freaks of nature doing extraordinary things and hurting people.

Martha glanced quickly at her husband and she knew they both shared the same thought.  _not like this._ Jonathan moved towards Clark against his better judgment—seeing the struggle he was waging etched plainly in his face, but Clark stepped back and continued.

"But, I saw all these stories and pictures of people like me—people who can do things no one should be able to, and at first I thought at least I'm not the only one, but then Chloe said she knew about me before, before I disappeared….and how is that possible? How could she know what I can do, if I was normal before?"

"Clark please, sit down, we all need to talk about this." She tried hard to keep the panic out of her voice.

Clark ignored her, his voice beginning to rise. "It can only mean that Dr. Carr lied—that you let me believe his lies. What really happened to me? Why was I in his care? What about the accident?"

Jonathan knew Clark was teetering precariously in the edge, and he never thought he'd have to tell his son the devastating and amazing truth about himself twice in the span of a year. It wasn't easy the first time, and it'd be even harder now, but he had to get Clark to really hear him.

He walked over and firmly took his arm, not caring if he tried to pull away.

"Son, I know you're upset, but you need to sit down and listen very carefully to us. Your mother and I need to tell you something—something we should have found a way to tell you from the beginning, but you have to understand Clark, we had no idea how you'd react, and we didn't want to risk putting you through anymore. I realize now that was a mistake, because all along you've been strong, and we should have trusted you."

Clark allowed his father to lead him over to the table. He felt like there was a war raging inside of him, and he knew his mind was fighting to recall something long buried. A dull ache in the back of his head started to spread rapidly until it settled behind his eyes.

His mother sat down across from him and reached across the table and took his hand. His father sat next to him and kept his hand on his shoulder.

"I know a lot of things don't make sense to you now, and what we need to tell you is going to sound like the most impossible thing in the world, but I only ask that you hear us out."

Clark squeezed his eyes tightly as the pain in his head increased.

"I don't know what happened exactly with Dr. Carr. You were working with me out in the back field, and then you were just gone. Dr. Carr claims you were taken by some of his colleagues and he didn't know the circumstances of how you came to be at that place—we don't really believe him, but at the time, we just wanted you home. The answer is yes, you were born this way, as far as we can tell. We found you as a toddler, and you could already lift our bed over your head."

"What do you mean you found me? I'm not your real son?"

He watched his mother glance quickly at his father before she turned his face to hers and squeezed his hand tighter.

"You're our son, our real son, the only son we've ever had. I didn't give birth to you, but the day we found you was like a miracle, I felt like you'd been sent here just for me."

She watched Clark closely; she knew all of this at once must be too much for him. Even the first time his father told him about his origins he'd always known he was adopted, now they had to assault him with everything at once, and she wasn't sure he could handle it.

He jerked his hand away from her, growing more confused and angry. "So where are my real parents? You just found me and thought it'd be ok to just keep me?!"

"Listen son you have to understand, we found something else that day too, and we knew it belonged to you. And we knew your parents were gone, and we know now they're dead."

Clark was on his feet, pacing roughly across the floor making the old pine groan and creek in his wake.

"Clark, please, calm down."

"Dr. Carr told me he found me in a field and that my parents were dead too, but he was lying, how do I know you aren't lying now?"

Jonathan got up and grabbed Clark, holding on as hard as he could. "We are not lying, we have no reason to lie to you! Clark, please listen, I can't imagine what must be going through your head right now…."

"No, you can't! You don't have a clue do you? For all the concern and patience and goddam sympathetic looks, you have no idea do you?! Now tell me, WHAT THE HELL AM I!?"

"You're not human."

His mother said it so quietly he almost didn't hear her. His outburst shook her to the core and for the first time in her life she feared her son, but she never ached for him more in that moment.

Clark turned to look at her, his eyes wild and his face flushed a deep red. "What?"

Martha took a deep breathe, wanting desperately to take back what she just said, but it was the truth and they'd been hiding it too long.

"You're not from this earth, the day we found you, we also found your spaceship."

Clark stood there staring at her, the expression on his face one she'd never seen before, and for a moment she knew she'd much rather have him screaming at them again. She watched all the color drain from his face, and with it any bit of hope he had left. His face was completely naked, each emotion fighting for space in his eyes.

"I'm not an alien."

Martha looked at him squarely, her own voice devoid of emotion, afraid if she betrayed any she'd fall apart completely.

"I'm afraid you are Clark. You found out you were from a planet called Krypton, and it was destroyed, you're the sole survivor of the race. That's why you have your abilities, its not from the meteor rocks. I can't expect you to believe us, but if you look deep inside yourself, you'll know it's the truth."

Martha walked away from both of them and went back to the dishes in the sink, but her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold a glass.

The room so thunderous with Clark's voice just moments before, was now deadly still, and the only sound was a rooster crowing softly in the distance. Jonathan waited, still reeling from his wife's simple declaration that had the power to change all of their lives irrevocably.

Finally Clark looked up, avoiding his father's eyes, his own eyes blazing with anger.

"You're both insane…." His head was pounding and his stomach throbbed, he started backing up towards the door.

"Clark wait! Don't run son."

A piercing pain shot through his skull and he could feel the room closing in around him, he turned quickly and ran, stumbling across the field as he went. His feet knew where he was headed before his brain did, and the earth was a blur around him as he faltered every few feet, but he kept running, knowing the mansion was just beyond the next clearing of trees.

When he saw the high stone turrets of the mansion he slowed his pace. As he walked towards the last group of trees, the pain in his head magnified and the sky opened up above him, a black mass of swirling clouds, and fire rained from the sky. He scrambled quickly to get away from it, but more and more balls of fire exploded around him, blocking every path he chose. His head burst and he dropped to his knees— he couldn't tell if he was sobbing or screaming, but he knew what he saw wasn't real. It was the same thing that happened when he destroyed Lex's chair, and he just wanted it to stop.

He chanted to himself over and over in a fierce whisper  _"its not happening, its not happening"_  until the skies finally returned to the bright blue of a late summer afternoon. He was shocked to find himself crouched down on his knees, inches away from the contents of his stomach. He jerked away from the offensive mess, and tried to stand. He knees shook badly, but he kept towards the mansion, not even sure why he was there. As he looked up toward the balcony just outside of Lex's rooms, a realization hit him so hard it paralyzed him. He knew suddenly with absolute certainty that the Kents weren't lying. He was worse than anything he could imagine, not just a mutant, or a freak, but not even human. He sat on the cool grass that was still moist from a recent shower. He let the smell of the damp moss fill his nostrils, and laid his head down on his knees and sobbed. He was still sobbing when Lex found him a few minutes later.

* * *

Lex looked at Clark, now sitting in the library ignoring the pile of books laid out for him. The drink of peach iced tea, his favorite, sat untouched next him on the side table. A plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies were also being ignored and Lex watched with morbid fascination as the chocolate began to melt from the heat of the fireplace. He knew it was too warm for a fire, but the ancient stone walls kept the mansion just cold enough to indulge in the spectacle, and he liked watching the flames flicker in Clark's unblinking eyes.

His face was moist from rubbed away tears, and his skin was pale and blotched with bright patches of red. His long dark lashes were still dewy with the remnants of his tears. His hair stood in a disarray of dark curls, mangled by Clark repetitively raking his fingers through it. He hadn't spoken a word since he stopped crying.

Lex had been working tirelessly for hours, overseeing the final construction of the facilities below the mansion, when his head of security, against his strict orders entered to inform him that he'd spotted Clark acting strangely on the lawn. He hated being interrupted, but he'd never turn Clark away, not when everything was so close to being ready.

He walked out on the lawn, not knowing what to expect, and there sat Clark; his large frame huddled on the ground. Clark, even since he returned, kept his emotions well guarded, and to see him so obviously desolate was shocking. He didn't look up as Lex approached, and he could hear his muffled cries as he got closer.

"Clark?"

Clark lifted his head, but turned away from him, obviously embarrassed. Lex bent down to try and get him to look his way, but Clark kept his head turned resolutely towards the trees, wiping at his flowing tears angrily. Finally, after getting no response from him, Lex stood, and held out his hand.

"Come inside. You can talk or not talk, its up to you, but I can't have you sitting out here like this, you're worrying the staff."

He nodded against his knee and allowed Lex to help him to his feet. Lex was a little taken aback when he saw Clark's face. It was flushed and soaked with tears that still spilled from his now bright green eyes. His lips were red and swollen, and Lex thought he looked the perfect picture of despair, the perfect picture of anything—too perfect to be human. It excited him and for a moment he forgot there was something very wrong with Clark and he obviously needed him. He recovered quickly, and ushered Clark into the mansion.

Now he watched as Clark grappled with whatever was troubling him, that so far he'd been unable to voice. But Clark didn't know how to voice it. How do you tell someone your parents think you're an alien, and for reasons you can't explain, you believe them? It explained everything, but more importantly it felt right, like he'd always known. But now he didn't know who to trust. If he really was some alien, then maybe the Kents only kept him hoping to gain something from him, and it was very obvious what Dr. Carr's intentions had been. The whole thing left him feeling empty and completely confused.

He looked over at Lex suddenly realizing what a horrible guest he was being.

"I'm sorry." It was almost a whisper.

"What happened Clark? Another fight with your parents?"

His only response was to wince as a fresh set of tears sprang to his eyes. He just nodded.

"Would you like me to call them? I need to step out to make a phone call anyway."

Clark looked at him, debating whether he should tell Lex what his parents told him, he wanted so much to share the burden, but the fear of what Lex would think of him held him back. He needed to have at least one person he could trust.

"Yeah….just tell them I'm here, and I'll be home when I'm ready." He raked his hand through his hair again and turned his attention back to the fire.

Lex nodded and excused himself to the other room. He immediately picked up a separate line and called his lab outside of Metropolis. He didn't know why he felt a sense of urgency, but something about Clark's behavior made him think time was running out for what he had planned.

"….I need a progress report on the serum. Obviously the one based on Dr. Carr's notes isn't working. The few drops I've managed to slip into his drinks are having no effect…I'm pretty sure he's starting to regain his memories, and I can't let that happen."


	13. Chapter 13

He wondered where exactly Krypton was, but he wondered more why he even believed what his mother said—that he was from some planet no one had ever heard of. It was completely insane, and maybe this was the spoke in the wheel of the salt of the earth Kents—that beneath all that idyllic veneer they were really completely nuts. He wanted it to be true, and he could almost buy it—almost, with the small exception that he could do things no human should be able to do. But what about all the people on that wall? They could do incredible things, were they aliens too mistaken for mutants? He paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, having no idea when he'd gotten to his feet.

Clark forced himself to stand still, coming to a stop in front of the large window overlooking the gardens below. It was no good, he couldn't stay there; he couldn't be sure he could keep his emotions in check, and that horrible display outside on the grounds could never be repeated. He felt a pang of disgust remembering how carelessly he'd sobbed while Lex did his best to soothe him, finally pulling him into an awkward embrace. In that moment he knew he had to pull himself together if it took every ounce of strength he had left. Soft touches felt like knives against his skin and he hated the sensation it sent through his body. He'd pulled away from Lex abruptly and following him obediently into the mansion despite the urge to keep running. And running is what he felt like doing now, but he 't want to confuse Lex anymore than he had already.

He strode out of the room, deciding to find Lex and tell him he'd decided to just head home. He walked down the hall towards his office listening to see if he was still on the phone, but he heard nothing, and Lex wasn't in his office when he reached it. He wondered if he should chance going upstairs to see if he was there, instead he walked towards the back, to the large kitchen. The kitchen was bustling with Lex's small staff busy preparing a dinner of what looked like beef bourguignon—his favorite; he smiled a little remembering the look on Lex's face when he told him that was his favorite dish. Dr. Carr fixed it for him a couple of times and even let him have red wine with the meal once they both discovered alcohol had no affect on him (a theory Clark decided to test on his own one night when he thought Dr. Carr was fast asleep in his room). He shook his head hard; he didn't want to think about any of that.

Luc, who usually served them lunch looked up as he entered a little puzzled but smiling warmly.

"Would you like a snack Mr. Kent?"

He didn't think he'd ever be used to being called Mr. anything by someone older than his father.

"No thank you, I was just looking for Lex."

Luc eyed him curiously for a moment. "Well…I think he went towards the garage, you might check there."

Clark nodded a small thank you, and Luc went back to slicing carrots.

* * *

 

The garage was just off the kitchen, but Lex wasn't there either. Clark looked through the walls to see if he was outside, with no luckn. He'd pretty much decided to just leave and ask Luc to tell Lex he'd gone when he heard Lex's voice coming from somewhere below his feet. He looked beneath the floor and saw Lex's skeleton moving below surrounded by instruments and one other person. Since when did Lex have a room under the garage? There was a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach almost like a warning. He felt a strong urge to leave the garage and the house without another word to anyone, but curiosity propelled him on and he began looking for a staircase. He found one hidden behind a door masked by Lex's only Lamborghini.

The door was sealed, but he opened it with ease and descended the stairs. The voices grew louder, Lex's voice rising above the other—whatever was going on, Lex was angry.

"….I don't want to hear excuses, I expect to see results, You've had months to work on this, there's no reason why this isn't fully operational by now!"

The man Lex was yelling at seemed exasperated and a little angry himself.

"If you feel you can find someone who can give you results faster, Mr. Luthor, by all means…"

"I'm not asking someone else, I asked you and—"

"Lex?"

The startled look Lex gave him was almost comical. He'd never seen Lex be anything other than completely composed even when Clark's own actions would cause most people to run. He'd obviously stumbled onto something he wasn't supposed to see, and Lex was taken off guard. He tried to recover quickly, but it was too late, his movements were over-thought and his words were too careful.

"Clark, I didn't mean to leave you for so long…"

"What is this place?"

Lex paused unsure of how to answer. For weeks he'd been planning how best to get Clark down to his newly created lab, and all along all he needed to do was leave him unattended for too long. He tried to think of any plausible explanation that would account for all the instruments, monitors and large covered metal table in the middle of the room, but there was no explanation that wouldn't cause alarm, and as Clark had proven on many occasions—he wasn't stupid.

The choice was made when Clark descended those stairs unannounced, and Lex knew with absolute certainty that it was the approach he should have adopted all along—the truth.

"Clark, wait for me upstairs."

Clark looked at him strangely, his chest tightened and for a moment he feared anxiety would overwhelm him. There was something eerily familiar about the place but he knew he'd never been there before. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he hadn't moved an inch since Lex spoke.

"Clark? Go upstairs, I'll be there in a minute." His voice remained calm, but he'd never heard Lex use that tone before, a tone that left no room for argument—it made Clark afraid he'd overstepped some boundary. He nodded and went up the stairs without another word. He didn't know what was going on down there, or why Lex even had a secret elaborate lab beneath his home. Whatever the reason Lex didn't seem to want him to know about it.

For a moment he considered bypassing the library entirely and leaving. But he had no intention of going back to the farm—he couldn't face them, not yet. Not being able to figure out exactly where he was going was the only thing that made him enter the room and take his usual chair near the fireplace. Lex entered just a few minutes later like he promised and took a seat directly across from Clark.

Clark fidgeted in the chair a little, forcing himself to look directly at Lex.

"Lex, I'm really sorry, I just wanted to find you to tell you I was leaving, I didn't mean—"

"Its ok Clark. You just took me by surprise, but its something I've been meaning to discuss with you, I just wanted to make sure you were ready. Now it seems I have to tell you whether you're ready or not."

Clark went to say something, but Lex silenced him with a wave of his hand.

"How much do you know about meteor rocks?"

Clark realized Lex must think he's a mutant like those other people on Chloe's wall.

"Next to nothing, why?"

Lex leaned forward, lowering his voice just a little. "There's a theory that the strange fragments from the meteors that fell fourteen years ago have done things to the people in Smallville—altered them somehow—given them special abilities."

Clark took a deep breath and waited.

"And given some of the things you can do, I believe that's what happened to you."

"Lex, I don't—"

"I understand you not wanting to tell me—there's a stigma attached, and given what you've been through I knew it'd take you a while to trust me. But it means a lot you were willing not to hide what you can do from me."

Clark tried to hold his eye contact, but he couldn't, he looked away abruptly. Lex had no idea how hard this was for him—he'd guessed the truth, but the wrong one.

"I don't know if I can do this right now Lex."

"Clark, all I'm trying to tell you is you don't have to go through this alone. I can see in your face how much of a burden this all is. I can't imagine what it must be like for you. I'm your friend Clark you don't have to hide anything from me."

He wished it were that simple, but Lex had no idea what he was really asking. It would be wonderful to just open up and unload all the turmoil in his head that he was sure would spill over in torrents soon, but he knew Lex would never look at him the same way again. It was one thing to be an altered human, but to be from another planet—who could accept that?

"Look, I'm not hiding Lex, I just…it's been a rough day, can we talk about something else?"

Lex always knew when to back down, but something in Clark's general demeanor told him he could push just a little more.

"Clark, I'm sure you know by now holding everything in doesn't help."

He was definitely right about that—he suddenly felt very tired, but he remained silent and let Lex continue.

"You're one of the only close friends I have, and it pains me to see you this troubled. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but I think I can help you—if you'll let me."

Clark let his head fall forward and just shook his head. "You can't."

Lex watched him carefully. "I'd like to try."

Clark rubbed his eyes roughly and groaned in frustration. "When does life get simple Lex? When?"

Lex reached out and grabbed Clark's shoulder, startling him. He was too upset to recover in time and he leapt away from Lex.

"I'm sorry Clark, are you Ok?"

Clark stood up and paced absently. "Yeah..I just don't like being touched."

Lex eased back in chair, cursing inwardly for not knowing when to stop.

"Is it because of what happened to you at the Institute?"

Clark turned and looked at him—a definite warning in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Clark, I saw the files Dr. Carr had on you, and its obvious—"

"No!"

Lex jumped at the sudden volume in Clark's voice—he'd never seen such pure anger on his face before; it was almost alarming.

"Clark…"

He walked away from the fireplace. "No! ok, just no! I don't want to hear."

Lex stood and tried to approach but Clark backed away. "There are some things about Dr. Carr I think you should know. Whatever he—"

Clark yanked his hair angrily. "I don't want to know, Ok?!"

"But, Clark—"

"He's all I remember! Don't you understand? He's all I remember."

Lex just stood there transfixed, watching Clark trying not to see what his brain was trying to show him. At first he thought it was important Clark not regain those memories of what happened to him—but if he saw Carr as a monster, maybe he could become his only ally.

"You're exhausted Clark. I'm sorry I pushed you. Come sit down and I'll have the staff serve us dinner."

Clark just looked at him blankly, too tired to even muster any emotion.

"No, I think I should just go. I'm sorry; I should probably know better than to come here when I'm this upset."

Lex shook his head. "I'm glad you came, I want this to be your safe haven."

Clark tried to smile, but it came out as a tired smirk.

"Thanks, I'm going to go."

"I'll drive you home."

Clark shook his head, already moving towards the door. "I'd like to walk if you don't mind."

Before Lex could consent, Clark was gone.

* * *

 

When he arrived at the farm, the lights were still on in the little yellow house, but he bypassed it completely and went up to his loft. He collapsed on the old ratty sofa and wrapped the worn Indian blanket around him and just laid there in the dark wishing his brain would shut off. The darkness of the sky had begun to ebb away to a soft blue and orange before he finally fell asleep.

Martha Kent paused in the middle of wiping down the counter for the fourth time because she thought she heard a noise outside. She dropped her towel and went to the window, looking out into the dark toward the barn. There she saw the faint twinkle of fairy lights and a shadow pass the open window. Her head hung heavy with relief—Clark had returned. For the past few hours she had never been more certain that he wouldn't.

She'd played the events of earlier over and over in her head in minute detail, still shocked by her own behavior. But is there ever an easy way to tell your already confused son that he's not even of this earth?

It happened so fast and only when the words were lingering in the air did she realize what she had said. She couldn't face him after that moment, and she'd never forget the look of pained horror on his face while he fought to disbelieve her. She knew that somewhere inside of Clark was the truth, and that he'd accept what she said no matter how much he raged against it.

Jonathan walked into the kitchen, and she knew he was about to remind her of the late hour and implore her to come to bed. Sleep was the furthest thing from her mind and she didn't think for a moment her brain could settle down enough to close her eyes. She picked up a fresh sponge and wet it in the sink.

"I know what you're going to say, but I'm doing exactly what I need to do right now."

Jonathan sighed, marveling how his wife didn't even need to turn around to sense his mood. "Unless you plan on eating right off the counters, there's no reason why you need to stay down here and clean for a third time."

"Fifth."

He walked up behind her and removed the sponge from her hand. "Martha, I saw Clark come home, now there's nothing to do except hopefully talk to him in the morning."

She moved away, and picked up a discarded towel. "If he'll even talk to us. Jonathan, how could I? How could I do that to him?"

"Look, there was no easy way to say it. I mean, yeah I wish the circumstances had been different, but you said what I didn't have the courage to."

She sighed bitterly. "And look where that got us. I've never seen that look on Clark's face before Jonathan, he looked completely hopeless." She blinked back new tears that were forming.

He pulled her into an awkward embrace, holding on until she gave in. "Clark will never be hopeless as long as he has us. I think we're expecting too much too soon. Clark's been through a lot and its just going to take more than a couple of months to bring him completely back to us."

She just shook her head. "But what if this is Clark? We need to prepare ourselves for the fact that this is who Clark is now, and forever. We're rejecting him when we don't accept that—that's how he feels."

"I know sweetheart, but I refuse to give up on a lifetime of memories we've built for him. He needs those back, not to make us happy, but to give him peace as well. I'm not about to stop fighting for that."

She wanted to believe him, because more than anything she wanted the son that smiled a little too brightly at them, with all his awkward goodness—but what if they were wrong? Clark didn't need anymore pain in his life, and its all he seemed to be handed lately. She finally dropped the towel on the counter, giving over to fatigue finally, and let herself be led upstairs.

* * *

 

Clark had watched the house for a long time, waiting patiently for the lights in the kitchen to go out. He didn't know why it was important to him that his parents be at rest, but his mind wouldn't settle until he could no longer hear a single sound on the farm except for the occasional benign moan from an animal. At first, when he heard his father come downstairs he listened to their conversation, but he couldn't take how upset everyone sounded. There must be a place where everything isn't so important and so painful and he wished he had the courage to seek it out.

When he finally did fall asleep, it only lasted a couple of hours before an old rooster awakened him. He almost laughed at the corniness of it. He sped into the house for a quick shower, and ran quickly to his room to change clothes. He did his morning chores, ignoring his father in the distance, then headed off to school. He didn't know why he was going back to Smallville High, but he really didn't know where else to go, or what else to do, and the farm was the last place he wanted to be.

* * *

 

The school was completely deserted—not surprising since he arrived a good hour before even the teachers were due. He wandered stark halls, listening to his feet echo as he walked. The bright colors of banners painted in earnest were muted in these early morning hours. Everything looked old, dingy and depressing now, or maybe that's how he saw everything these days. He wondered if he'd be the first alien to seek psycho-therapy on earth, because he honestly didn't know how much more he could take. He could feel something growing and gaining momentum inside of him and he dreaded the moment when it finally broke through.

He rubbed his temples roughly hoping to stave off the headache that continued to throb behind his eyes, and headed down the hall to the Torch office. He could hardly believe it'd been less than 24 hours since he found out the first grain of truth that led to the eventual watershed. He stood there with his hand on the locked door, remembering all the articles and pictures papering the large wall and turned quickly away, not sure if he could face it today.

He spent the rest of the day going through the motions, saying little and making sure not to draw any attention to himself, dreading the final bell that would force him to decide his next move. Dr. Carr had warned him about the unforgiving streets of Metropolis—always telling him that the best place for him was somewhere safe where he could be cared for, but now the idea of getting lost in an endless concrete maze seemed appealing. He avoided the girl from the Torch, Chloe, who kept looking at him with pleading eyes, and tried a couple of times to make her way towards him, but few were quick enough to catch him.

* * *

 

Dr. Carr watched Clark's defeated frame walk amongst the other students as they filtered outside during what he guessed was their lunchtime. He was a far cry from the spirited young man he'd become at the institute. The uncertainty was written in every tentative step he took as he failed miserably to make his 6'4 frame disappear into the crowd. Obviously Clark was not fairing well in his hometown, and this pleased him—it'd make what he intended to do a lot easier. For a moment he noticed Clark's eyes flicker towards him and he ducked back down the street to his waiting car. Now wasn't a good time to approach. He'd been patient so far; what were a few more days?

 

* * *

 

Clark ran laps around Smallville until even he was bored with the exercise. He came to rest in the middle of a cornfield and laughed bitterly. Was there anything else in Smallville besides cornfields? He'd lost count of the miles he'd covered but he knew he was still in the confines of the county. It was like there was some invisible barrier keeping him from crossing the county line. How could another town be any worse than where he was now? What was he afraid of? He didn't know, but even if another town wasn't any worse, he doubted it'd be any better. He took one long glance across the horizon and turned in the opposite direction, the sun racing him as he made a clean streak across the fields.

He stopped directly in front of the yellow house as if by habit because he couldn't remember making the decision to go back there. But there he was just inches from the porch; from the door that lead to the kitchen—the scene of last night's…he didn't even know what to call it. He turned sharply away from the house, but saw his father, or whatever he was, fast approaching. He wondered why he often forgot he could disappear in the blink of an eye and faced the same human hesitation that everyone suffered. For a moment he seemed at a lost, finally giving up, and waiting patiently for Jonathan to reach him.

"Hi, son."

Clark didn't answer him. His first thought was 'you have no right to call me that', and he felt the familiar anger push to the surface, but he remained silent.

"Look, I want to say I'm sorry about how everything happened yesterday, I know how hard—Ok, I honestly don't know how that must have been for you to hear, but I definitely know what it's like to have to say it."

Clark's face remained stoic, and Jonathan searched for any sign in his son's eyes that he even heard him.

"Clark, son…please say something."

"What would you like me to say Mr. Kent?" He said the words very quietly and simply, but it felt like Clark had plunged a dagger into his chest.

Jonathan swallowed hard. "Clark, you're our son—I'm still your father."

Clark met his eyes, and Jonathan felt what little of Clark they'd manage to hold onto slipping away. "You don't know what I am and I have no parents if what your wife said is true."

Clark moved to turn away, and Jonathan grabbed him.

"Clark stop it! We raised you, we've loved you and cared for you.  _That's_  what a parent is, and we have a right to that title more than the people who sent you here!"

Clark snatched away from him. "What do you want from me?"

Martha had come out onto the porch when she heard Clark's voice. The air was perfectly still, and the skies were clear but there seemed to be a dark torrent whipping around her son and she didn't know what to do. She went to join them, but Jonathan told her with one shift of his eyes to stay where she was.

"Clark, what you don't seem to understand is we don't want anything from you, we only want you to be happy."

Clark just shook his head. "Your version of happy. What if all I want is to be left alone?"

Jonathan sighed. "Is that really what you want Clark?"

It wasn't, but he couldn't seem to think of an alternative. The last time he remembered being happy was before he was ever told about the Kents, since then he lived with constant confusion and doubt, trying to be someone he didn't know.

"I barely want to exist, I don't know what I want."

He started run to the barn, but stopped and turned to face them both.

"And don't worry, I'm not leaving—I don't have anywhere to go."

He disappeared in a stir of dust and wind.


	14. Chapter 14

Blades of grass tickled his skin and he dug his heels deeper into the damp soil. If anyone were to ask he'd never be able to explain why he was splayed with arms outstretched in the middle of a field. The sun made his skin hum as he laid there drinking it in. He'd walked the length of the Kent farm slowly until there were no cows and no corn. When he reached the edge of the trees he just lay in the grass, bathing in the sun, and he felt at peace. Somewhere during his walk he'd decided he wasn't Clark Kent anymore, he was only his body, his mind and everything he remembered, but he didn't have a name for it yet. He wasn't Martha and Jonathan Kent's son, and he wasn't Dr. Carr's pet, or Lex's friend. Though the last one stung, but he needed to get used to the idea. He couldn't expect Lex to keep forgiving outburst after outburst, and the last one he was certain was unforgiveable. He didn't understand why he couldn't seem to control himself around Lex. Lex pushed his buttons somehow, and whenever he was in the mansion he felt there was something he was supposed to know but couldn't quite grasp. But, in many ways he felt like he was giving up his home and he would greatly miss it.

He turned to lie on his stomach, looking down below the soil, letting his eyes peel away layer after layer of earth. He let his gaze travel down until he saw the first glimpse of molten heat. He smiled broadly, and wondered if he'd been this fascinated with his abilities before. He returned his focus to normal, and looking up, saw Jonathan standing amongst the corn looking in his direction. His father knew he could see him, but he didn't move, and gave no gesture of greeting. Finally Jonathan walked back towards his tractor, and Clark turned onto his back in triumph, then immediately felt a stab of guilt.

They weren't bad people, they'd been wonderful to him and he didn't intend to punish them any longer. He'd sit at their table, answer their questions (within reason) and try to be the exemplary son, even if he was only pretending. He'd even decided to throw himself into life at High School, and try and befriend the little blonde girl, who at least seemed to know what he was and wasn't afraid. He could stomach all of it as long as he knew there was an end in sight, and it was time he started to plan his next move.

* * *

They were standing around the kitchen when he walked in the door. His Dad was mid-sentence while wiping his hand on a kitchen towel and his mother was gingerly testing a roast she'd just pulled out of the oven. They looked comical, frozen in their positions with the shock of him entering the kitchen as if the recent stand-off hadn't existed. His mother was the first to recover.

"Hi Sweetheart, dinner will be ready in a few minutes…go get cleaned up."

He shifted his eyes over to his father. So they were going to feign normalcy he saw, which worked for him. He glanced down at his jeans, covered in dust and dirt from spending hours lying in the grass and nodded. He disappeared up the stairs in a blur.

Jonathan looked over at his wife and sighed. She only shrugged sadly and motioned for him to grab the bowl of potatoes.

"What else can we do Jonathan?"

He ran his fingers through his hair, a habit still imitated by Clark and shook his head. "I don't know, but should we allow him to treat us like that? We're still his parents."

"I know Jonathan, but right now I'm happy he came home. Just think of it as being when Clark first came to live with us. We had to coax him into trusting us; in a way this is no different. I think we expected too much of him too soon."

"I get that Martha, but I don't want him to think he can do whatever he wants because we're afraid of him running off. He didn't do any of his chores this morning."

She plated the roast and handed him a large carving knife while she put out the vegetables. Clark watched them work together effortlessly in the perfect symmetry of two people who knew each other completely. He didn't understand why it pained him to see it, but he shrugged it off, entering the room noisily so not to startle them.

He sat at the table, waiting patiently until they both took their seats. His father was the first to serve, carving the roast and placing generous amounts on each of their plates, while his mother passed around the vegetables. All of this was oddly familiar to him; like he'd done it a million times before and he could feel a memory tugging at his conscious.

"Is roast my favorite?"

Both of his parents stopped mid-bite and looked at him. Martha tried desperately to control her glee, but there was nothing she could do about the smile on her face or the tears that threatened to well at this simple question.

"Yes…roast beef, or pot roast was always your favorite meal. I admit I was hoping the smell would bring you to the kitchen."

"…with new potatoes…"

His father nodded, trying hard not to make too much of it. "That's right, with garlic and rosemary—since the day you came here actually. We celebrated with that very meal."

Clark nodded, trying to force the rest of a memory that wouldn't come. "That sounds good."

Jonathan smiled and chuckled softly. "It is, so dig in!"

Clark hadn't eaten anything in two days, so the meal was well appreciated. Somewhere between his second and third helping, he finally spoke again.

"How old was I?"

His mother looked up at him, "How old were you when?"

They'd both stopped eating, and the sudden scrutiny made his cheeks warm.

"When you adopted me…or found me."

His mother looked at his father, unsure of how much they should elaborate.

"We weren't really sure to be honest. You looked about the size of most three-year olds, so we guessed that's how old you were. You were always tall, but you seemed to grow at the same rate as your peers. We marked your birthday as the day we found you. Are you starting to….remember things?"

He watched the expectant look on their faces; like this was finally the moment they'd been waiting for. The moment their son would return to them. That look was about to change. He shook his head no, and gazed down at his potatoes.

His father tried his best not to look disappointed; he'd give him that. "Its Ok Clark, I mean it'll take time, and maybe it will never happen. I think its best to just focus on what we have here—now."

He mumbled softly. "And what is that exactly?"

Jonathan dropped his napkin on the table, exasperated. "Clark…"

"Sorry, I just don't want you to get your hopes up."

His father reached across the table to take his hand, but Clark let his hand slip back into his lap. Jonathan ignored it.

"Look, son, your mother and I just want you to be Ok. And I don't mean to say there's anything wrong with you, but you're not happy, I can see that."

Clark slowly looked over at him and met his eyes for the first time in days, but remained silent.

"I think, whether your memories come back or not, you're no longer the same boy I left working in the fields several months ago and we need to accept that. I think that we just have to get to know you again, if you'll let us."

Jonathan glanced at his wife for reassurance. She nodded almost imperceptibly and looked over at Clark.

"So Clark, I'm going to have to get to know what you like and don't like all over again, and if there's any food you want in the house, just let me know Ok? Or anything you need. I'm sorry I ever assumed you'd like everything the same as it was before."

It was the first time in a long time he'd felt any surge of emotion that wasn't connected to anger. This was their plan to win him over, or maybe they were just tired of fighting. He didn't know what to make of it and he was too emotionally tired and drained to challenge it. Maybe he needed someone on his side right now. He took a deep breath and nodded.

His mother smiled warmly, squeezing his father's hand in the only expression of glee she allowed herself.

"Can I say something?"

"Of course, son."

"I don't like to be touched."

His father looked worried. "Clark I didn't mean…".

"It's Ok, but I don't like to be touched, so please stop trying to, and please don't ask me why. I don't know why, I just know I don't like it. And that may never change."

Martha hated the idea of never being able to hug her son again, but if its what Clark needed then she'd have to put her own feelings aside.

She nodded. "I think we can do that."

He smiled a little. "Thank you. And thanks for dinner; it was delicious." He wanted to return to the barn, but he thought it'd worry them, so he picked up his plate and dropped it in the sink, mumbling he was going to finish his homework upstairs and disappeared.


	15. Chapter 15

Lex stood in the middle of his lab—empty and silent now with the staff gone. He tried to see it as Clark must have seen it, and it looked cold, impersonal and he were being honest—pretty frightening.  He shut off the lights and returned to his study.

He sank down into the chair in front of the fire, drowning his frustration in the dark brown liquid disappearing quickly from the carafe on the table next to him. The knowledge he’d tried hard to push away, glaringly showed its face the minute he watched Clark disappear from that very room. So, he’d allow himself this night of remorse, regret and weakness, as his father would have put it.  He let all the feelings he’d pushed away for weeks, of finally having Clark’s complete trust—of being the only person he relied on—of being privy to the secret he’d been charging after for years.  The pure joy of what it to truly meant be Clark’s friend. Because tomorrow he had to make a decision, and that decision would set both of their lives in an irrevocable direction.  Lex let the last of the bourbon slide down his throat, relishing the way it burned. He closed his eyes, sighing deeply, not knowing whether or not he could stomach what tomorrow would bring.

* * *

The next morning Clark woke with a new resolve—he’d get up early, or normal time as far as his parents were concerned; go do his chores without being asked and head to school immediately after breakfast. His resolve held true until he hit the front porch and went to walk towards the field where he needed to bring the cattle in to eat. One look at both Jonathan and Martha Kent talking quietly by the tractor as Jonathan unloaded bags of feed sent Clark to his loft instead. Maybe normalcy was something he needed to build up to.

He knew both parents show him bypass the fields completely and head to the loft, but neither said anything and he was grateful.   What he wanted more than anything was to trade forgotten memories. Life would be so much easier if it was his life at the institute he could forget and remember his life as Clark Kent; the affable son of a farming couple. But the truth was, he was terrified to remember his life before, because it may mean he’d remember the memories that comprised his nightmares. He wasn’t so naïve to think that his nightmares didn’t come from some reality he simply couldn’t remember, but he didn’t think there was any more room in his brain for anymore turmoil. He needed to find a way to simply be present and not worry about his past or future.

The truth was he wished he could leave there and walk away from everything; he wished had the courage to keep running until he hit ocean. He felt so uneasy, like he wanted to crawl out of his skin and just standing still seemed like torture. But he had an overwhelming need to feel safe and the unknown scared him. So he escaped the way he always had—from his days at the institute, or the countless hours spent in Lex’s library. He walked over to the bookcases leaning precariously against the barn’s wall and emptied them, stacking the books on the floor beside the sofa. He sank down onto the faded wood floors and picked up one after another; relentlessly going through page after page without looking up, until his mind was full of words that had nothing to do with him. 

It started to rain, and he couldn't remember it raining since he'd come to Smallville. He pushed aside the stack of books and reached for the copy of Walden Lex had given him. He'd been extra careful with it, not wanting to so much as wear the edges, and he knew he probably shouldn't be handling it at all, but he could never resist the smooth surface of its worn cover and the eloquent prose inside. Though the book had given him a new appreciation for the landscape surrounding the town, and he often went for long runs just to watch the trees whip by as he ran, he still never felt quite at home there. Maybe he should try harder, and stop pre-judging every man he saw swinging a feedbag and wearing plaid. He'd done nothing so far to try and fit in, but why should he change just to live in a place that held no real interest for him?  But maybe because he was an alien didn't mean he had to feel like one.

“Clark?”

He still startled easily and he dropped the book on the floor, cracking the spine a little. He cursed softly under his breath.

“Oh, sorry, didn't mean to scare you.”

It was the blonde girl, Chloe. He pushed himself off the floor and sat on the sofa wondering why she'd just show up in his barn—oh right, they were friends.

Clark just looked at her expectantly watching small drops of water run off her denim jacket. Chloe ascended the last couple of stairs, though there was nothing welcoming in Clark's demeanor.

“I'm sorry to bother you, I mean I probably should call right?....but I just wanted to apologize for what happened. I have this habit of rushing forward without really thinking and I just—anyway I'm sorry.”

 Clark honestly didn't want to hear another apology but he didn't have the heart to be rude, and he was definitely tired of sitting there alone.

 “Its Ok, its not like you meant to hurt me or anything.”

Chloe nodded, lingering on the landing. It felt odd to feel like a stranger in a place that had almost been a second home to her. So many days she'd come barreling up those very steps to excitedly tell Clark of her latest discovery; waiting for his usual response of skepticism mixed with a tinge of amusement at first. But this Clark was as silent and closed off as Clark had been on his worse days and she didn't know how to penetrate his walls anymore. 

“Well, I should probably go. I wanted to get a head start on the latest edition before school. I just wanted to see if you were Ok.”

Clark glanced out the window where the rain had started coming down in heavy sheets.

“You should probably wait, its really pouring now.  So...we were friends?”

Chloe smiled and walked into the loft, stopping just short of Clark.  “Yeah, best friends.  You were elected to show me around on my first day here in eighth grade, and we've been friends ever since.”

Clark moved some stray books off the sofa so she could sit down. “You didn't grow up here?”

Chloe sat down beside him at the far end of the couch. “No, my dad and I moved here when I was thirteen. He lost his job in Metropolis and took a job here at the Luthorcorp plant. I of course was bitter and didn't want to be dragged off to Podunk. But you made it Ok.”

He’d almost forgotten Lex ran the plant in Smallville, and was probably the major employer of all its citizens. Amazingly Lex never reminded him of the vast difference between their lives and circumstance, and he’d come to think of that huge cold mansion as a refuge.  But it was unfair to Lex to continually ask him to be his savoir.  Chloe noticed he didn’t answer right away and the tension in the air increased.

“I think I’ll just brave the storm. I’m totally intruding and shouldn’t have just shown up here.”

Clark pulled himself out of his thoughts, realizing he was being rude 

“No, I’m sorry. I spend too much time alone I think. I’m sorry I avoided you in school yesterday—I just didn’t feel like talking. But I did want to ask you about that wall.”

Chloe smiled a little. “So you _were_ avoiding me, and here I thought I was just being paranoid. And Clark, about that wall…Its not meant to exploit anyone, its just my own personal record of the odd things that happen here, its not meant as a judgment.”

Clark nodded. “Its hard not to feel judged if you’re pinned to a wall.”

Now she really felt horrible. “Oh God Clark, you’re right…I should just burn the whole thing.”

Clark had to agree, but he shook his head instead and smiled a little. “Its ok, I don’t think most people would react like I did.”

Chloe wasn’t easily appeased. “No Clark, its wrong, I see it now. I mean I know I call it “the weird and unexplained” but they’re people aren’t they? and maybe some of them do go homicidal, but a few--I mean like you—are just normal people trying to live.  I really need to take it down don’t I?”

Clark just shrugged, wanting to change subject. Obviously it wasn’t something that bothered him before, though he couldn’t imagine why it wouldn’t.  Maybe he just pretended it didn’t. It seemed his former self spent a lot of time just swallowing things in the name of fitting in. 

An un-easy silence fell between them. The clouds were shifting in the sky and rain slowed down to an easy patter, and in the distance a couple of small calves peaked their heads out into the fields.  Clark eyed his books again and Chloe slowly understood that their polite reunion had come to an end 

She stood, letting her eyes sweep around the loft and finally on Clark’s still form watching her with detached politeness. She realized she wasn’t sure she’d be allowed up there again.

“Well…um, the rain is letting up, so I should probably go. Just wanted to see if you were Ok.”

Her forced cheerfulness forced him back out of his own head. He needed to learn to stop being so unintentionally rude.

“I’m sorry, I promise to be more, um, welcoming next time. Its been a long couple of days.”

Chloe just smiled sadly at him, letting her cheeriness fade away. “Its ok Clark. Its been a rough time for everyone. I’ll see you later.”

She gave him a half wave and went down the stairs.

Clark let his head fall back against the sofa, all desire to read gone. He looked out the window, letting his eyes travel towards the distant horizon. He stopped when he saw a figure standing by the farthest fence outlining the property.  He was up before he realized it, head leaning out the window, trying to get his vision under control to get a better look. His heart pounded in his chest when he realized who it was. The first instinct was to run, but he had no idea in which direction—towards or far away? The decision was made for him when he looked again and the figure was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things should move along quicker from here on out, so thank you for being patient with the angst:) And Giant thanks to everyone who reviewed or left kudos. Its very appreciated, more than you know:)


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